Third Time's the Charm
by zennjenn
Summary: Post S5 Angel. Spike makes a choice and ends up in Buffalo in 2009 with a broken slayer and a new big bad in town. Buffy characters are Joss's I just play with them.
1. Buffalo or Shanshu

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Buffy characters. I just play around with them when my own characters are on vacation!

Chapter One: Buffalo or Shanshu?

He landed with a soft thud. Softer than he'd imagined, if he'd had the presence of mind to imagine landing at all. He hadn't been thinking of landing anywhere when he'd seen the long wooden stake headed towards him. He'd seen it pierce his chest. So yeah, landing anywhere hadn't been on his mind. Dust had been.

He'd been surprised to feel the pain. He'd always thought death by stake would be quick and painless. One quick jab to the heart and poof – dust. At least, he'd hoped it would be less painful than the last time he'd died and dusted. That long burning, as glorious as it had been to die saving the world, had been a bloody painful and awful death.

Death by stake? Sure, it took less time, but it still hurt like bloody hell.

The stab to the heart, the spreading fire through his body and then poof, millions of exploding dust molecules bursting in the air and then – well then that should have been the end of it.

But here he was proof that those millions of dust molecules had somehow reunited and he'd fallen through a blinding firestorm of light and wind before landing on something soft and quite comfy. He looked around. His black leather coat was filthy and torn and looked incongruous next to the clean and pristine leather couch he was sitting on. In fact, everything about the room was pristine and clean.

And white.

Blindingly white.

"What the hell…" he murmured, staring.

The room was shaped like an octagon and on each side there was a tall white chair that looked like a throne. They were empty at the moment and he spared a thought for who might, at one time, have sat in those chairs. The ceiling was high, at least as high as a four story building, he guessed, and it looked like the night sky; dark blue it twinkled with flashing stars. Having been a creature of the night, he knew his night sky and he recognized several constellations.

There was a light, warm breeze that smelled of roses and oranges blossoms. Not strong, just sweet enough to be beautiful.

He shook his head.

It really wasn't possible.

Could it be heaven?

It definitely didn't look like hell. He knew hell.

This was not it.

Could this gorgeous place be what the witch and her Scooby gang had dragged his Slayer from? No wonder she'd come back wrong.

He tried to stand up and found his legs had lost all strength and sensation. It had, after all, been quite the fight, that last battle. He grinned, his blue eyes gleaming with the ferocity of the battle rage that had gripped him as he'd faced down the demons of hell. He'd stood there when that last demon had come swooping down the alley. Him and Angel and Illyria – grinning in fierce hunger – ready to die and take the beast down with them. And they had, he'd heard the dragon's dying screams before he'd bought his own one way ticket to the hereafter.

He sat back, spread eagle on the couch, his arms stretched across the back. As far as hereafters went, this wasn't a bad gig. He could wait a bit until he got the strength back in his legs and then he'd find out just what this dimension had in store for him.

Lights flashed and the scent of roses was replaced briefly with the scent of ash and burning flesh. He grimaced, covering his nose and then his ears and then his eyes, as a high screeching keen filled the chamber and it went bright white with blinding light. He was shoved aside as something large and ungainly fell onto the couch next to him.

Then, silence and the scent of roses.

He sat up and glanced over and groaned.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "This _is_ hell."

The man next to him sat up, blinking in disorientation. Then his gaze focused on the slighter man sprawled beside him.

"Spike," he murmured, his voice deep and scratchy as if he'd inhaled the flames of hell.

Spike stared at the dark haired man with a sneer.

"Hello, Peaches," he drawled bitterly.

Angel glanced around. "Where are we?"

"Hell," Spike replied, then sat back and crossed his arms and glared at the empty thrones. "For all eternity apparently." He shook his head. "I should have known that I would end up here- with you. I deserve it I suppose, Scourge of Europe and all."

"Oh shut up," Angel muttered. Then, he tried to stand up and realized too late that he couldn't. He slid to the floor with a thud as Spike laughed harshly.

"Should've waited a few minutes you git – no strength."

Angel grimaced and began pulling himself back up onto the couch with his arms. After much cursing and puffing and gasping, he settled in next to Spike.

He glanced around, his dark eyes brooding. "What the hell are we doing here?"

Spike cocked an eyebrow and began to explain, as if he were talking to a two year old. "Well, you see – we went down in the fight. All those demons and that last dragon – we got him by the way – but someone got us. I saw it, Angel. Me, you, two Kleynach demons and two very large stakes. It was a plan – and they got us. And now we're dead and stuck in some hell dimension."

Angel looked around and shook his head. "I've seen this place. This isn't hell. This is a courtroom – for the Powers That Be."

Spike stared at him, opened his mouth as if to speak and then thought twice and shut it. He patted his pocket, searching for his smokes. When he found them, he pulled one out, put it between his lips and lit up.

Angel' eyes widened and he gasped.

"You can't smoke here!"

Spike glanced over at him and settled back, closing his eyes and taking a long drag. "Like hell I can't. I don't answer to these sods anymore. I had hoped they were done with me, but here I am again. So I'll smoke and I'll curse and do whatever the hell I want until they show up and answer some of my questions."

"And what would those be, William?" A soft voice asked.

Angel started, sitting up straight and staring at the vision before them.

Spike didn't even flinch. He simply watched the goddess glide towards them. Her sapphire hair gleamed and her pale skin sparkled like diamonds in the bright white light. She took her place at one of the thrones and leaning back, smiled at them.

"Are your blokes joining us?" Spike asked, tossing his cigarette on to the marble floor and grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

She smiled at him, leaning forward, as if sharing a secret with him. "No, they don't approve."

He grinned back. "Then they can just sod off, can't they?"

She giggled and Angel gaped at them. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd have sworn that Spike was flirting with one of the Powers That Be. The gall of the idiot!

Testing his legs, Spike stood up and swaggering over to the throne to the right of the goddess, he sprawled into it. He shifted a bit, trying to find a more comfortable spot and grimaced. "Bloody uncomfortable." Smiling at her, he said, "I had a real comfy chair back in my crypt in Sunnydale. Miss that chair."

"Do you miss Sunnydale?" she asked, reaching over and gently taking his hand in hers.

A frown replaced the smirk and he slumped in the throne.

"Every waking moment," he murmured, wishing he had his smokes back. But suddenly, it didn't seem right somehow to smoke in front of her. Just like it suddenly didn't seem right to be sitting in the throne. He slipped from it and stood, facing her.

"I would imagine that you look back on those moments in your life with great sadness and yearning," she murmured.

He tilted his head and looked at her. "You could say that," he said. "They were the worse of times and the best of ti-"

"Oh, for the love of God!" Angel exploded. "Enough!" He glanced at the PTB. "Can you make him shut up? Please."

Instead, she smiled at him gently. "Angel," she murmured. "A favorite among us."

He smiled broadly. "Nice to know."

Turning, she faced Spike and smiled. "Angel and Spike, saint and sinner, but which is which? At one time it was obvious. Now," she murmured. "Not the case."

Angel shrugged and protested. "Well – depends on who you talk to. I'm sure that the PTB could argue – "

"Oh stuff it, you ponce!" Spike interrupted. "I earned my soul back! Fought the demons for it. Trials and all that! You were cursed with yours!"

The goddess sat back and smiled enigmatically. "Boys," she said.

They stopped arguing and looked at her.

"I knew that I was right in bringing you both here."

Spike grinned at her. "It would be nice, love, if you could let us in on what's going on here. I thought I was in for some well deserved oblivion this time around. You brought me back once before, can't we let bygones be bygones and call it a life?"

She laughed gaily and winked at him. "Oh, Spike, I do adore you. I've been watching you for some time."

He looked at her nervously. Sometime could be a longtime in an immortal's life. Being under the watchful eye of the PTB wasn't necessarily a good thing.

She gestured to both of them, her arms opening wide in a graceful, languid gesture, as if to usher them into her embrace. "You are both so special. Vampires with souls. One cursed with it and bound to repent and the other gifted with it and bound to curse it. So special and so very necessary."

Angel stood up and faced her. There was something, a certain tone to her voice, that he distrusted. He'd never trusted the PTB.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Spike's mouth fell open and his eyes widened as a cold streak of unease struck. He'd only ever heard that tone in Angel's voice a couple of times and it had never been good. The goddess' last words played back in his thoughts. Things that were special and necessary – how many did the world really need?

"Oh bloody hell," he muttered and went to stand beside Angel.

"Spike," Angel warned.

"What do you want, witch?"

She laughed again. "Oh no, Spike, it's not what I want. But what you want. I'm here to reward you. Finally, with what your heart most desires."

"My heart?" Spike asked. "My bloody heart hasn't beat in well over a hundred years. It doesn't want anything!"

She raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Oh, really? Not even a certain green eyed blond with the worse syntax we've ever come across?" She laughed as both her saint and her sinner flinched. "I'm here to reward you both."

"The Shanshu Prophecy," Angel murmured.

"Give the man a prize," Spike replied.

"Shut up, Spike and let the goddess speak."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "So says the vamp who wants to be a real boy someday."

"Yes," the goddess replied. "The Shanshu Prophecy."

"That a vampire with a soul would come and save the world and in return-"

"Oh shut up, Peaches, we know the bloody prophecy," Spike snapped.

The goddess chuckled.

"He is right, you both are fully aware of the prophecy. At this point it is simply a matter of rewarding it to one of you."

"One of us?" Angel said, choking on the words.

She smiled sadly. "Oh yes. I'm afraid the prophecy is fairly clear on that. Only one vampire."

"Screw the prophecy, they are never full proof," Spike said. "Not worth the parchment they're written on."

"Oh, in this case it is. One vampire with a soul; one human life."

"So who is it going to be? Step right up on the Price is Right!" Spike crowed.

The goddess looked at him. "Actually, Spike, it is your choice."

He stopped crowing and stared at her. "Pardon?"  
"The Powers That Be have decided that it is your choice."

"My choice?" He was beginning to sound like an idiot, even to himself.

"Yes, as the vampire who earned his soul back through the trials and who gave up his undead life saving the world from an apocalypse, you are the champion and you should by all accounts be the one to fulfill the prophecy. But with Angel here, it becomes a bit confusing. So we've decided that Spike, you can chose – Angel or yourself – to fulfill the prophecy."

"You have got to be kidding me?!" Angel exploded. "After everything I've done, you put my fate into his hands?"

Spike grinned. "A certain justice there, isn't there, Granddad?"

"Shut up."

Spike turned to the goddess. "So explain to me exactly how this works."

"You choose who will fulfill the prophecy. Once chosen, that person will return to earth in a human body, with a human soul and all its accompanying mortality. The chosen one will have no recollection of his previous existence as a vampire. Imagine simply being dropped into a life – you will never know anything else."

"Complete oblivion," Angel murmured in yearning.

"Tabula Rasa," Spike said with a nod. "Like what Red did to us that time. Wiped the slate of our pasts right clean."

The goddess nodded. "Yes. And then we'll give you a new one, like what was given to Dawn. You will have your own name, a past, and a future that will be up to you to play out. You will never know that your life was anything other than what it is."

"And the other one? The one who doesn't get to be a real boy again?" Spiked asked.

She smiled. "Well, that one goes back to earth the way he came from it. A vampire with a soul. The world needs there to be that balance. We can take one of you from the world, but we must give one back."

"Jesus," whispered Angel.

"There has to be more to it than that," Spike said with certainty.

She nodded in approval. "No one ever gave you enough credit. You're smarter than you look."

"Thanks, love," he said with a grin.

"So here's the deal," she continued. "There's a new evil rising in Buffalo and the Slayer and her girls are going to need all the help they can get. And quite frankly, the world needs all the help it can get. It needs one of you – it needs a vampire with a soul – and the Slayer is going to need someone to fight by her side and – to – "

"To what?" Angel asked.

Spike had lost all ability to speak at the mention of the Slayer.

"She's lost," the goddess replied. "She's lost her heart and her soul – figuratively speaking – and she needs one of you to give it back to her."

Angel took his place next to Spike.

"So let me get this straight. One of us fulfills the prophecy and goes back to earth as a human with no memory of his previous life. The other goes back to the way things were, but has to go and face Buffy and help her get her heart and soul back."

The goddess nodded. "That sums it up."

Pointing at Spike, Angel said incredulously, "And it's his choice."

She nodded again.

Angel dropped his head, shaking it and laughing. "You guys have a great sense of humor."

"Thank goodness someone does," she murmured.

He shot her a look and stopped laughing.

She glanced back at Spike. "Well, Spike, what will it be? Human or Vampire? Sweet oblivion or Sweet Buffy?"

He stared at her and then looked over at Angel. Unable to face either of them, he turned toward the wall and tried to think.

Being human had never appealed to him. As a human, he'd been a sap, a wanker, a complete and utter Nancy boy. As far as he remembered, Spike had taken to being a vampire like a boy to his toys; he'd reveled in it and celebrated his strength and the evil that had taken root in him. He'd done everything with gusto – he'd killed and he'd loved – god how he'd loved Drusilla. She'd been his sire and he'd worshipped the ground she'd walked on. That was the one thing the demon in him had never killed – the poet and the lover within him. And they'd found their inspiration in Drusilla. He'd loved her and killed with her and with her, he'd felt complete.

Over time he'd been able to forget that he'd once been William the wanker, regularly humiliated by everyone around him.

Spike would never in a million years have imagined he'd want to go back to that.

Until Buffy. For Buffy he'd have done it. He'd have done anything to be a man for her. To be a whole and good man for her. To be the man she needed and wanted.

But this prophecy – what good was it to be a man and not have the woman he loved?  
He glanced at Angel.

All Angel had ever wanted was to forget the demon within him. To be free of his guilt and his past. To, as Byron had once written, to live and bare the aspect and form of breathing men. To sleep at night and walk in the light of day.

As far as Spike was concerned, the sun was highly over rated.

It would seem, he thought to himself, that it was an easy choice. Except for the catch. The whole – having to go and save the Slayer from herself - catch.

Spike hadn't contacted Buffy when he'd been hurled back after going down in a blaze of glory – how could he have? He'd wanted to. But in the beginning he'd been unable to – physically unable to leave Los Angeles. As a ghost he hadn't even been able to pick up the phone and call her. When he'd finally regained his form and gone to Italy on a mission with Angel, he'd discovered her in the arms of the Immortal.

And that had been that.

Apparently dying in a blaze of glory wasn't worth much in the love department because his Slayer, his throw me a bone, "I love you" as you're dying Slayer, had moved on pretty quick; to another dark and brooding type!

How the hell would he explain this to her? Not only had he been spared by the PTB once, but twice and if the goddess was right, Buffy wasn't looking to be saved.

Christ.

He turned to the goddess. "What happens if I can't do it?"

"Can't do what?"

"Save her from herself, give her her heart and soul back?"

The goddess smiled. "Failure is not an option."

He looked at her blankly.

"You have to keep trying. Forever. You can't walk away from her, Spike, until you've healed her. If this is the path you choose, then you choose your fate and you can not ever walk away from it."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, taking a deep breath that he didn't need, but old habits died hard. Then he glanced up at Angel.

"Well, Peaches, this is a right old pickle."

Angel stared at him, a look of honest to goodness devastation on his face.

Spike shook his head. "Oh, stop brooding. I know how much you want to be a real boy again."

He turned to the goddess. "So how do we do this? Is it just a matter of my saying "make it so?""

"What will it be, partner? Shanshu or Buffalo?" The goddess asked with a grin.

"Bloody hell, do you have to put it that way?"

She shook her head. "No, you do."

As he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. "Wait."

He grimaced. "What for?"

She gestured to Angel. "Don't you want to say goodbye?"

Spike turned and looked at the taller vampire.

"Bye, poofter."

Then he turned back to the goddess.

"Buffalo."

He never saw the look of amazement on Angel's face.

Or the grin of satisfaction on the goddess's.

In a split second, the bright and pristine room smelling softly of roses and orange blossoms was gone and he was standing in a dark cemetery swimming with the scent of sewage and diesel and an angry looking demon was facing him.

And it was cold. As cold as brass balls in December.

Perhaps he should have sent Angel here after all. He would have felt right at home.

"Christ," Spike muttered. "I hate Buffalo already."


	2. Back to the Future

CHAPTER TWO: BACK to the FUTURE?

After dispatching the Brachen demon, Spike brushed off his hands and headed out of the cemetery. He needed to get the lay of the land and figure out what he was going to do. He headed up Walden Ave, heading for the well lit and busy downtown. As a cold northern wind blew in off Lake Erie, Spike tucked his coat tighter around himself and cursed. Damn Slayer had to set herself up in a northern city. He hated the cold. Hated the dampness. The dampness reminded him of England.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I'm going to have to buy a sodding scarf!"

Passing by a dumpster he noted an old recliner. Might as well start furnishing a crypt now, he thought. As he was unearthing it from the pile of debris, he noticed the headline on a newspaper. "Obama signs peace deal!" The picture of a man smiling and bent over a table signing a document caught Spike's attention. He picked up the paper and glanced over it.

"Who the hell is this git?" he murmured. He read in growing confusion about the president's successful peace negotiations with North Korea. "What the hell?" Spike muttered. His hands shook and he felt a strange, tight sensation in his chest. It was unfamiliar and if he didn't know better, Spike would have said that it was fear.

With disbelief, he looked up at the top corner of the page, searching for the date.

January 20, 2014.

"Holy hell," he murmured, his voice shaking and stumbling over the words. "Two thousand and fucking fourteen?"

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" He crushed the newspaper into a ball and tossed it back onto the pile of garbage. Staring up at the sparkling night sky that reminded him of the one in the court chamber where the goddess had charmed him into going her way, Spike suddenly felt at a loss.

How in the hell has she done it?

Even as he wondered, he knew what a ridiculous question it was. These were the same gods that had saved him not once but twice from death. And Spike dared to wonder how and why the PTB had placed him back on earth ten years after he'd left?

He kicked the chair in frustration, suddenly realizing just how difficult his task was going to be. The thought of seeing Buffy had been almost impossible to imagine before. But Spike had felt certain that he was up to mending the fences and that once he'd explained to her what had happened, she'd forgive him. Surely – going down in a blaze of glory to save the world counted for something in her eyes! After all, in those last moments, she'd said she loved him.

It was one thing, Spike figured, to get her to remember their better moments and reconnect after a year.

_But after ten?_

What the hell had happened in the course of those ten years to make her – how had the PTB put it – lost?

Spike did the math quickly. Buffy was no young and innocent girl anymore, she was in her thirties and women in their early thirties…

He cursed and looked up the street. Not far ahead he could see some flashing lights. There had to be a bar up ahead. Spike needed some information. And he needed a drink.

It was Buffalo. He figured it wouldn't be hard to find either.

***

By the time the sun rose on a cloudy and cold morning, Spike was settled nicely in a crypt in

Concordia Cemetery. A choice meeting with some tame Ryken demons provided him with a good connection with a local butcher and they had given him the low down on the local demon population as well as the local slayer chapter.

Chapters! The slayers had gotten all organized and had chapters – like legions and churches and stuff – or so the Ryken explained. But they didn't seem to mind. The presence of a slayer chapter kept the bad demon element down and gave the more benign faction a safe place to live as inconspicuously as possible.

In addition to the lowdown on the slayer and her gang of Scoobies and slayerettes, Spike's new demon friends had promised to help him tap into the city's hydro to wire his crypt. He had been devastated to learn that Passions had been cancelled and he'd cursed the PTB. But apparently, there were equally ridiculous shows on TV. The Rykens had almost gotten into a fist fight arguing the merits of "Lost" VS "Heroes".

Spike wasn't convinced either would be as entertaining as his Passions, but he'd give them a try to appease his new friends and to help pass the time.

So he waited. And as he waited, he planned and plotted. He couldn't just spring himself on her. It had been ten years and she thought he'd been dead. It was also possible that she'd heard about his resurrection at the hands of Wolfram & Hart and his subsequent re-death fighting the powers of darkness that day in Los Angeles. Either way, just showing up on her doorstep was going to get him a swift stake to the heart and nothing more. He was fairly certain he wouldn't even be able to get in a quick "I'm sorry, Slayer" before she dusted him first and asked questions later.

He finally decided to check her out first. Of course, he'd have to be careful. With her slayer senses she'd be able to pick up on his presence in a second. After they had shagged, they had never been able to hide from one another. He could smell his Slayer across a crowded, filthy room, just as he had in that club in Rome. And her – he knew she'd be able to sense him as well.

He could only hope that after all these years she hadn't forgotten.

The thought caused a pang of sadness in his chest and he quickly slammed the door on the memories that threatened to flood him.

It wasn't time to worry about that yet. First he had to gauge the lay of the land. And once that was done, then he'd pull in some favors and use some old tricks. He was sure the witch owed him a favor or two.

As soon as the moon had risen, Spike made his way to a bar the Rykens had mentioned as a local demon hotspot. He was certain that his girl would show up there looking for information. Unless her tactics had changed drastically, Buffy would have ensured the bar owner and bartender were well versed in her methods for gathering intelligence.

He'd been in the bar for an hour when he noticed the shift. The demon cliental suddenly slumped deeper into their chairs and barstools and their conversations slid into low gear. Spike leaned back into his darkened corner and watched as a tall, young woman strode down the stairs. He smelled the blood of a slayer, but knew in an instant that it wasn't his slayer. Apparently travelling through time and dimensions hadn't deadened his instincts or his sense of smell.

He was close enough to see and hear her clearly. The young woman leaned against the bar, her shapely jean clad butt fairly screaming for attention. She stripped off her leather gloves and placed them on the bar.

"Hey, Mickey," she called out to the bartender with a honey coated French Canadian accent. He eyed her carefully, trying to gauge her mood and sidled over to her.

"Chantal," he acknowledged.

"The usual," she said.

He nodded and taking a surprisingly clean wine glass from the shelf, he poured her a glass of red wine.

"How've things been?" she asked.

Spike could see her blue eyes clearly as she scanned the bar mirror, taking in the crowd behind her.

"Pretty quiet since you girls took out those Chaos demons that had moved in over on Pine St," Mickey responded.

Chantal smiled. "Yeah, that was fun."

Mickey was smart enough not to comment.

"No one new in town?"  
Spike sat up. Could news have spread that quickly that there was a potential new "big bad" in town?

The bartender fought hard not to glance towards Spike's corner. But he knew his cliental well and he tried to keep them happy.

"Some new vamps, but I haven't seen them in here," he said with just enough truth to be believable and just enough vagueness to appease his new customer.

"They seem to be multiplying during these cold months," Chantal muttered.

"They like it up here," Mickey replied, showing some insight. "Less sunny days during these months."

"Any idea where they set up shop?" she asked.

Mickey continued wiping a glass and shook his head. "Nope."

She nodded and finished her wine. "Fine. I'll let Buffy know."

Mickey nodded. "Give the Slayer my regards."

Chantal smiled and turned to leave. Her gaze travelled around the room one last time, lingering on the darkened corner where Spike sat and then she turned on her high heeled boots and left the bar.

He waited a few moments, stood up and walked to the counter.

"Thanks, mate," he said and handed over a few bills.

Mickey grabbed them and looked up at the vampire standing before him. "Don't mess with the slayers," he said quietly. "You don't want to go down that route. For your kind, it's not a long road from here to a stake with that one."

Spike grinned. "Don't I know it, mate," he murmured. "Don't I know it."

He turned and then followed distantly in the path of the slayer. Throughout her patrol, he shadowed her, watching and judging as she fought and dusted two vamps outside a chicken wing joint on King St. Then, as if on a schedule, she turned and headed home.

Home turned out to be a turn of the century gothic style mansion in a fairly decent part of downtown Buffalo. From the outside, it looked like the house was well kept and Spike wondered if the Watcher's Council was finally footing Buffy's bills.

The house was dark as the slayer let herself in through the front door. Even from where he stood beneath a tree in the neighboring yard, Spike could feel the power that emanated from the house. There were spells galore protecting its inhabitants and keeping the unwanted out. And beneath it all, he could sense another power. The power of the slayers. There were a few in the house, he could tell. And from the few he could sense, Spike was able to pick out the scent of the one that had always mattered to him the most.

His slayer was there. It had been a year since he'd seen her and the longing to rush in and pull her into his arms was powerful.

But the fear was there as well. Because Spike knew that his enthusiasm would not be reciprocated. Especially not after ten years.

Noting the address and sensing that the dawn was but an hour away, Spike turned and headed home.

***

Chantal sipped her coffee and broke off a piece of the cinnamon roll that Willow had put before her. "Merci," she said and shot Willow a smile. Willow passed her on her way to the coffee pot and ran her hand over Chantal's hair. She poured herself a cup and sat down, wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them.

"Can we turn up the heat in this place?"

Buffy grabbed her own mug and threw herself into a chair. "Wouldn't matter. It's old and it's drafty. And our heating bills are high enough. Put a sweater on." She took in Willow's big red sweater and grinned. "And a scarf."

"Et un chapeau," Chantal added with a wink.

Buffy looked at her blankly but Willow smiled at her, going all soft eyed and doey. "Chapeau," she murmured. "Hat?"

Chantal grinned. "Yes, hat."

Buffy tried not to role her eyes at the lame romantic repartee. It was a bit early for that. In fact, it was always too early for romantic repartee or romance of any kind.

Business. That was better.

"Report on your patrol, Chantal," she said sharply.

Chantal shifted uncomfortably, fighting the instinct to bite back at Buffy, but she knew better. Buffy was her boss. Her gaze slipped apologetically away from Willow's and she looked at Buffy.

"That tip we got about a new bad in town wasn't wrong, but I'm not sure just how bad it is. Mickey mentioned some new vamps, but that wasn't what I sensed last night."

"You sensed something new at Rogues and Patriots?" Willow asked.

Chantal nodded. "I went in to talk to Mickey and get the low down on the tip we'd gotten. But I hadn't even stepped into the bar before I sensed it."

Willow leaned forward with a smile. "Ooohh Spidey senses! I love it when those kick in."

Chantal shot her a suggestive grin. Then, all serious, turned back to her boss. "It was strong and strange."

"How so?"

Chantal shook her head. "I've never sensed anything like it."

Seeing as Chantal had only been a slayer for the last six months, that wasn't unusual. In their line of business she came across new sights and strange occurrences on a daily basis. She was still developing her abilities.

"Close your eyes and tap into your memories of last night," Buffy ordered coldly. "And tell us exactly what it was like."

Chantal obediently closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She practiced the deep meditative breathing Buffy had taught her, her breath vibrating at the back of her throat, hissing like the whisper of waves on a shore.

"I could sense the darkness of a demon, but just a whisper of it. If I hadn't known better, I wouldn't have known he was a demon. But it was there, but buried in a thick blanket of ash. I knew he was in the back corner because all the other demons were avoiding looking there."

"What did he look like?" Buffy asked.

Chantal shook her head. "I didn't see him. He hid in the shadows. When I went to the bar, I deliberately kept my back to the room and my eyes on the place through the mirrors, hoping he'd show himself. But that just confirmed what I'd already thought – vamp – no reflection. "

"Vampire," Buffy said matter-of-factly.

"No biggie," Willow said. "Vamp, stake, poof, pile of dust. It's what we do."

Chantal shook her head. "This one's different."

Buffy's gaze sharpened and she and Chantal shared a glance. "How?"

Chantal shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know. He's old."

Buffy sat back and nodded. "Good work. You were right not to engage him. You had enough sense to know that he was different and an unknown entity. You don't want to engage with unknown demons on your own."

Chantal nodded. "There's something else," she murmured.

Buffy looked up at her. "What?"

"He followed me here," she said. "He knows where we live."

TBC


	3. He Who Cannot be Named

CHAPTER THREE: He who cannot be named!

Buffy stared down at the street into the lengthening shadows. Snow had begun to fall and she shivered. Chantal and Erica were preparing to patrol and she could hear them bickering as they suited up in the large foyer. Their voices carried up the spiral staircase as they argued the merits of guns and stakes.

Slaying had changed, Buffy thought to herself, for the hundredth time. And sometimes, not for the better. She stepped into the hall and leaning over the banister, watched the girls don tuques and scarves. Dressing for slaying in California had been so much easier. Short skirts and fashionable but affordable high heeled boots, she remembered with a smile. Now it was down parkas, hats, scarves, gloves, and sorrel boots.

"Don't forget the Kevlar vests," she called down.

Erica looked up and grimaced. "It's too difficult to maneuver with the vests under the parkas."

"It'll be more difficult to maneuver when you're six feet under," Buffy pointed out.

"Demons are old school," Chantal pointed out. "They don't use guns."

Buffy nodded. "You're right. But drug dealers and other human criminals do. If you aren't going to wear the vests, then be careful."

Erica grinned. "We'll stick to the cemeteries where the drug dealers are too scared to hang out."

They both snapped their pagers into their holsters.

"Check in and keep your eyes open for that vampire Chantal sensed."

The girls nodded and opened the door. They let in a cold blast of frigid arctic air and Buffy yearned again for California.

"Buffy?"

She turned and spotted Dawn coming down the stairs.

"Hey, Dawnie," she said.

Dawn stepped into the office and Buffy followed her and sat at the desk. She put her feet up and eyed her sister. Dawn sprawled on the leather chair and looked back.

"You okay?"

"Okily Dokily," Buffy said, breezily.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "No one uses that expression anymore. "

"A-okay?" Buffy asked, hopefully.

Dawn shook her head and smiled. "Just stick with okay or cool or fine. You'll be safe with those and not age yourself."

"How did things go over at the university today?"

Dawn shrugged. "Fine." She looked closely at her sister. "You had an odd look on your face just then, in the hallway," Dawn said. "What's going on?"

"What makes you think something's going on?"

"Um, because there is always something going on?" Dawn snorted and raised her eyebrows.

Buffy sighed. "The cold is getting to me."

"You miss California."

"Especially in January. Not so much in October." Buffy looked outside the window. "I love it here in October."

"Buffy, no one loves it here in January and February. You'd have to be a sadist."

"And of course, I'm no sadist." She grinned and leaned forward. "Enough about my sad state and hate of the northern winters. Tell me how your first day on the job went."

It was Dawn's turn to shrug. "Making the switch from student to teacher is difficult," she said. She'd been hired by the University at Buffalo as a junior professor in their English and Communications department. She was teaching a first year poetry course and a Popular Culture course on Soap Operas.

"Any hotties in your class?"

"That would be unprofessional."

"Dawnie. It's me."

Dawn flashed the wedding band on her left hand. "Married remember?" That doesn't mean, Dawn thought, that I won't check them out for you! Dawn looked at Buffy sadly. She needed to find someone for her sister; Lord knows, Buffy wasn't out looking for herself. For years now she'd been preaching the love's labor's lost approach to romance. No men. No hotties. No commitment or emotional entanglements of any kind.

Not since Spike.

"Do you still miss him?"

Buffy shot her a cold glance. "Miss who?"

"Spi-"

"Don't speak that name!"

"Buffy come on! You act like he's Voldemort!" Dawn said angrily.

"Voldemort? Is that a new demon in town?"

Dawn grimaced. "You are so out of touch. I'm not even going to answer that."

"I am NOT out of touch with popular culture. I happen to be completely plugged in to popular culture. I watch The Simpsons." Buffy pointed out.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy, no one cool watches The Simpsons anymore." She walked over and took her sister's hand. She lowered her voice. "I miss him too. All the time. Why can't I talk about him with you? Who else can I talk about him to? Xander doesn't like to talk about him and neither does Giles when he's here. Only Andrew likes to talk about him and he just gets all weird about it."

"Why do you need to talk about him at all?" Buffy argued. "It's been ten years Dawn! Let it go."

"You haven't!"

Buffy stared at her coldly. "I – have – let – it – go," she bit out.

Dawn scoffed. "Oh yeah? How? You think that little affair you had with the Immortal in Rome was letting go of Spike? Please – you didn't fool anyone. That was a lapse of judgment and nothing more. And since then? That lawyer you dated briefly. And then there was that professor. But none of those lasted. You made sure they didn't."

"Dawn, this conversation is so over. My love life or lack of it is not your concern."

"Of course it's my concern," Dawn said. "I'm scared for you."

Buffy looked at her incredulously. "Scared? How is that any different from any other day Dawn? Take a look at our lives – we live in fear every day!"

"There's a difference between fear and cowardice," Dawn whispered.

Buffy stood up. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"When it comes to facing demons, you know no fear," Dawn said. "But sometimes I think that's only because when it comes to your heart, you're a coward. So you've got nothing to lose."

"Get out."

"Spike," Dawn whispered.

Buffy closed her eyes. Immediately she was assaulted with at least a hundred images of him. His long leather coat, those fierce ice blue eyes, that cocky grin, that long, lean body. Spike smoking. Spike staking a vamp. Spike making love to her. Spike burning to save the world, a devil may care grin on his lips and a brilliant joy in his eyes.

"Get out," she whispered.

"His name isn't a curse! I need to talk about him! I need to remember him. I loved him too and he loved me!"

"And he left us both!" Buffy screamed.

Dawn stared at her incredulously.

"What?"

"For someone who loved us, he sure had a funny way of showing it, didn't he?"

"He sacrificed himself to save the world, Buffy. He didn't abandon us."

Buffy gestured violently, sending the vase on her desk crashing to the floor. "Not then! Afterwards! After Wolfram & Hart brought him back from the dead and he was in L.A with Angel! He left us then, Dawn!"

"Buffy-"

"Get out!"

"But-"

"GET OUT!"

There was no disobeying the order when it was screamed at the top of the Slayer's lungs. Dawn froze for a split second and then she ran from the room.

***

Spike stared up at the lit window. He took a drag on his cigarette and pulled his coat and scarf closer as the wind tore through the yard.

He knew she was there. He'd seen her standing in the window, his vampiric sight enabling him to pick out the details. Her hair was shorter, a straight chin length bob that swung enticingly against her jaw. She was pale, as if the long northern winters had drained all the sun and heat from her bones. Little lines around her eyes revealed that the stress of being a slayer had started catching up to her. But the sight of her, from dozens of feet away, still managed to make him catch his breath. She was still his slayer.

Now if he could only figure out a way to let her know that.

***

"He was in the yard," Willow said. "Last night."

Buffy glanced up from the computer. "What?" she asked absently.

"That new demon in town."

Buffy finished off the email to Giles at the Watcher's Council and turned her attention to Willow. "How do you know?"

"I went out this morning to check the parameter. Whoever was there last night has a major aura. It was strong enough to leave traces."

"How did he manage to get that close and no one in the house sense him?"

Willow shrugged. "It's possible that the protection spells I've placed around the house to block demons from getting in are also blocking us from sensing them. Does it matter?"  
"I don't like the idea of a demon standing outside our house watching us."

"I don't think he's a threat," Willow said softly.

Buffy trusted Willow's instincts. As a practiced witch, Willow felt things on a multitude of levels and her instincts were solid. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't sense any danger or evil in him," Willow replied.

"He's a vampire, Will."

Willow nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's what Chantal was having such a difficulty explaining. He's a vamp, but there is no evil intent."

They stared at each other.

"A vampire with a soul," Buffy whispered in horror.

Willow nodded.

"Impossible," Buffy said. "Im-freaking-possible. They are both dead."

"It happened before, maybe there is another one."

"Another vampire with a soul? Cursed or earned?" Buffy looked at her in disbelief. "And why the hell is he here? Is he looking for me?"

Willow shook her head.

"Contact Gunn in L.A. Get a hold of Giles. Call in all your coven contacts and see if there has been any word on another cursed vampire. I need to know what I'm dealing with here."

Willow stood up and left.

As she headed for her own office, she was really glad that she'd failed to point out what else she'd learned. Their vampire had a bad habit.

He'd left a pile of cigarette butts beneath their tree.

***

Spike paced the length of his crypt, taking in a deep drag off his cigarette. He'd spent enough nights outside the house to know that there was definitely something odd going on. Every morning, just before sunrise, the Bit, who was not so little anymore, left at the same hour. Coffee in hand, wrapped from head to toe in wool and goose down, she strolled down to the bus stop and caught the 6:30 bus heading to the North Campus of the University. The first time he'd spotted her, he'd barely recognized her. She was taller and with the camouflage of winter clothing, she was indistinguishable. But he recognized that walk and the way she tilted her head down in a certain way as if she were trying to watch her step so as not to trip and fall over her feet.

He'd followed her to the bus stop the first time, ducking behind a tree once when she stopped and looked back. He'd had just enough time to slip into a sewer that morning. Hours spent wandering the cold and dark underground pipes of Buffalo had not endeared him to the city. But he had been able to map out an underground route between the slayer headquarters and the cemetery.

It had done his soul good to see Dawn. It had taken a Herculean effort not to call out to her; not to run to her and throw his arms around her and hold her close. He had so much to ask her; so many things to talk to her about. He wanted to know everything about her. Watching her, so tall and so beautiful, Spike felt like a proud father; albeit, a proud deadbeat father who had abandoned his teen age daughter at an incredibly important juncture in her adolescent life.

Night after night he haunted the house, noting the comings and going of its inhabitants. Red usually arrived from wherever she worked at six. And then, at eight the patrols started. The slayers patrolled in pairs. There was the French girl who'd been at the bar that first night. She often patrolled with a blond girl with dreadful hair that stuck out from beneath her tuque in thick, matted dreadlocks. Then there were the twins – two African American women Spike would have guessed were six feet tall. They were magnificent. They moved in sync and he loved to follow them and watch them fight. They were like a symphony, a beautiful rhapsody of movement and dance. And then there were the last two – the short Native American girl and the New Yorker. He'd heard her talk in the bar one night and she'd reminded him of his time spent in New York back in the seventies.

The patrols were like clockwork. Two of them left promptly at eight and returned at eleven. At 11:30, the next pair left and returned at 2:30 and finally, the last pair left at three and returned at 6:30, just as the Bit was leaving and the sun was beginning to rise. They alternated their shifts, taking turns, but they never missed a shift. Buffalo had the best demon hunter coverage possible. Six slayers and a witch protected its citizens.

But they didn't have the protection of _the_ slayer.

In the two weeks he had haunted the house, Spike never once saw Buffy leave.

And that's how he had known something was terribly wrong. The Buffy he knew never let anyone else do her slaying for her.

Realizing just how difficult it was going to be to approach Buffy, Spike knew it was time to call in a favor. He crushed out his cigarette, then he hopped up and sat on the sarcophagus. Leaning over, he braced his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground. It had been a while since he'd tapped into this particular power and he had never done it comfortably. And this time, he had to do it such a way as to not scare the hell out of the witch. Spike looked up as he suddenly wondered if he had to change his accent, if she'd recognize the voice.

"Christ," he muttered, scratching his head. "Just how in the name of all that is unholy am I going to manage this?"

He shook his head, loosened up his shoulders and stretched out his arms. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes again and opened up his mind. Trying to remember what Willow had taught him all those years ago, he focused on his breathing. And in his mind, he lowered his voice, muffled his accent, and sent out his message to her.

"Willow Rosenberg!"

In a dark bedroom, on the other side of the city, Willow sat up straight in her bed. She gasped, her heart pounding, sweat pouring down her back. Chantal stirred next to her but didn't wake.

"Willow Rosenberg!"

There it was again, the voice in her head, garbled, but clearly a male voice. Oddly familiar, but low. She could barely make out the words.

"Tonight. The Anchor Bar. Eight o'clock. Come alone."

Willow stared around the darkened room.

What the hell?

TBC


	4. The Return of Martin Who?

Newly batead! Thanks Mabel!

NOTE: I don't own any of the Buffy characters. I just play around so don't sue me!

CHAPTER FOUR: The Return of Martin who?

The Anchor Bar was a Buffalo landmark. Located downtown, the bar was the home of the famous Buffalo chicken wings and on any given night there were locals and tourists enjoying spicy wings and the music of live bands. As she pushed open the door and walked in, Willow thought that it was an unlikely spot to meet up with a warlock.

Willow had spent the entire day wondering and thinking about whom her mysterious voice belonged to. She'd come to the conclusion that a visiting warlock, familiar with the work that she was doing here in Buffalo with the slayers and the Watcher's Council, had arrived in town and wanted to meet with her. That didn't explain the unusual method of communication, nor did it explain the mysterious message and the odd meeting location. But Willow had learned to expect the unexpected.

She wasn't worried. She figured that by choosing a public place, her mystery guest was trying to set her at ease. That didn't mean she wasn't going to be careful.

She glanced around the bar, wondering if he was here already, if he'd spotted her, and how long he'd wait before approaching her. It was a Friday night and patrons were just starting to trickle in. The house band was setting up in a corner and waitresses were busy carrying trays of beer and wings to their customers. Willow wandered over to the bar and perched on a stool, keeping her eyes glued to the mirror so that she could scan the place and see whoever was coming up behind her.

She ordered a beer and waited. It was after eight and still nothing. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment, and then lifting her head, she scanned the room, picking out the auras. She glanced around, looking for a powerful aura; if her date was a warlock, he'd have an incredible one.

There were lots of navy auras and a bright yellow one that made her pause. Bright yellow auras were very rare and unusual. She'd only ever known one other person with a bright yellow aura. It was beautiful and had swirled around her like clouds of singing angels. The urge to turn and search out who that gorgeous aura belonged to was incredibly strong and Willow's heart twisted…

Tara….

She fought back the pain she still felt at the loss of her former lover, and just as she was going to look away, she saw something that caused a shiver of genuine unease. The traces she'd come across when she'd done her walk about the property. A powerful aura of vibrant red and orange. There were trails of it coming into the bar and across the floor and right –

Oh God.

Right behind her.

Willow stared into the mirror.

Vampires don't have reflections.

Shit!

"Red, don't scream and don't faint!" A familiar, accented voice said softly. "_Please_ don't scream, Red. Don't turn around either. You aren't ready yet."

Willow drew in a harsh breath from deep, deep in her chest. She knew that voice. But just as she knew it, she knew it was impossible.

He was dead!

She could still hear the echo of Buffy screaming the words. She could still hear Buffy crying in her room at night.

He'd died. Not once, but twice. Years ago!

It was impossible!

Willow took another deep breath, staring in the mirror at her pale face. Her eyes were wide, her jaw dropped. She looked a fright, as if she'd seen a ghost; and she hadn't even seen him yet! There was nothing in the mirror behind her but that vivid orange and red aura, swimming around her.

Then she felt his hands on her shoulders and she jumped

"Willow, turn around when you're ready."

She closed her eyes and putting her hands on the bar, she slowly spun the bar stool and faced him.

"Oh, God," she gulped, tears springing to her eyes. She covered her mouth and stared at him out of wide, shocked eyes. He looked, well, he looked exactly the same. "Spike! How – when – what the hell are you doing here?"

He grinned and took a step back. "You aren't going to scream are you?"

She shook her head, eyeing him from head to toe. She reached out and poked his chest. As hard as marble. Unyielding.

"It's you. You're real," she murmured. Her eyes widened even more. "You're the vampire Chantal spotted the other night and the one who's been hanging around our house. My God! Spike!"

He nodded. "Yes I'm real. And yes, your little Frenchie sensed me a couple of times and yes I have been – uh – hanging around your house."

She sat up and reached out to take his hands. "What the hell happened?"

He looked uncomfortable and he shifted, looking around the noisy bar. "I – I can't go into all the details, not yet."

She shook her head. "Okay, for now. But, Spike, where have you been the last ten years?"

He snorted. "Well, that's part of the story. Let me tell you this much. Two weeks ago I was in L.A fighting the fight of my life. I met up with a demon and a stake and the next thing I knew, I was here in Buffalo. The bloody Powers That Be sent me here. "

Willow frowned. "In L.A? But you've been dea-"

He nodded. "Yeah, Red, I died that day and the Powers That Be sent me here, years later."

"Good grief!"

"Not sure there's anything good about grief, but it is what it is."

"So you lost ten years?"

"Yeah, mind you – for someone who's been alive as long as I have – seems a bit like splitting hairs to get worked up over a few years," he said, shrugging it off.

As Willow began to realize the true scope of his return from the dead, her eyes began to glow and a smile slipped across her lips. She reached out and grabbed his hands. "Spike – this – this is incredible! The PTB sent you here! They saved you again! Obviously there was a reason for it!"

He looked away from her and she paused, picking up on his unease. He was hiding something.

Looking back at her, he said, "Don't go peering into my thoughts and trying to get at things that I don't want to tell you. But yeah, the bloody Powers That Be have a plan for me." He wasn't about to tell her about Angel and the prophecy. No sodding way. That choice was for him and him alone to judge and live with. If Buffy ever found out that Angel was alive and a man…. Spike knew in his heart that she would move heaven and earth to find him.

"What's the plan?" Willow asked.

The bar stool next to hers freed up and Spike slipped on it. He gestured to the bartender, "What d'you have on tap, mate?"

"Stella, Guinness, Labatt's, Tetley's," the bartender droned.

"Tetley's," Spike said, then turned back to Willow. "To save Buffy, what else?"

Willow gaped at him. "Save Buffy?"

He took the pint and drank deeply. Then he glanced back at her. "Yeah, Red, you live with her, you should have a better idea of just how much saving she needs."

"What did they tell you?" Willow asked softly.

He scoffed. "Nothing that I wouldn't have picked up after one night watching that house."

"What do you mean?"

"What?" he asked incredulously. "Are you taking the piss?"

She shook her head.

"I've been watching that house for two weeks, see," he began, "and not once has the slayer left it. She stays in the house doing whatever she's doing, and let's those little girls go out and do her patrols and her slaying for her. The Powers That Be told me she was lost and I didn't exactly know what they meant. Now, now I get it. She's lost alright – and not her heart like they said – but her sodding mind!"

Willow's mouth dropped bit by bit during his rant, and then she smiled.

"Are you daft?" he exploded. "What the bleeding hell are you smiling about?"

Willow jumped off the stool and threw her arms around him. He froze, unused to any physical affection coming from the Scoobies, even the witch.

"I'm just so happy you're here," she whispered.

He slipped his arms around and hugged her back, closing his eyes, relishing this small victory, this small embrace, this small link to Buffy. "Me too, pet, so am I."

***

Spike insisted on ordering fifty of the famous Anchor bar chicken wings and Willow watched in amusement as he ate them, licking his fingers and enjoying every drop of grease and hot sauce.

"Bloody magnificent these are," he enthused. "As good as that blooming onion thing!"

She simply watched him, marveling over the fact that he was there, sitting across from her, living (well sort of), breathing (not necessarily), and proof that there was such a thing as a miracle.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked finally after he finished telling her about that last battle in L.A. and the fall of Wolfram & Hart.

He tossed the last wing into the basket and cleaned his fingers on a wet wipe. "We need to figure out a way to let Buffy know, and I'm looking to you, to figure it out."

"I suppose I can't just invite you to dinner," she mused.

"Can we tell the Little Bit first?" he asked hopefully.

Willow pursed her lips. "That might work. Oh God, Dawnie, she's going to be thrilled that you're alive."

He glared. "Not alive, Red. Un-dead remember."

She chuckled. "Okay, whatever, you know what I mean! She's going to be so excited. We need to tell her right away."

"And then?"

She was at a loss. "Honestly, the best thing might just be to sit Buffy down, explain it to her, and have you walk through the door. Tada!"

"If I'd known that was going to be your fantastic plan, I would have just knocked on the front door."

"Spike, all we need to do is prepare her. It – it won't be as much of a shock as you might think."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We knew that there was someone, something, hanging around the house and we'd figured out it was a vampire with a soul. I was supposed to actually figure out who it was. We simply thought that, well, with both you and Angel dead these last years, that another en-souled vampire had been made."

He nodded. "Okay, so perhaps it's a matter of you explaining to her that you've discovered who it was hanging around. And you know, sort of explain to her the whole ten year bit."

She waved his concern away. "You were in an alternate dimension."

He pursed his lips and cocked a brow. "Not sure if that's going to make a bit of difference to her."

Willow eyed him. "Yeah, you didn't contact her after, well, after Wolfram & Hart brought you back to L.A after Sunnydale."

He frowned. "I know that was all explained to you. I was a bleeding ghost! Couldn't even lift the bloody phone."

"And after?"

He groaned. "I went to Rome to find her and put it this way, I was the last sodding vampire she needed. She'd gone back to the tall, dark, and brooding type."

Willow winced, remembering Buffy's ill fated affair with the Immortal. It had been bad. And now, well now it seemed that it had been worse than bad.

He shrugged. "So I went back to L.A. and when I saw Andrew I told him not to say anything. Then, I fought the good fight with Angel and his L.A. band of misfits, I died again, and here I am."

"Buffy still hasn't forgiven Andrew for not telling her," Willow said softly.

He laughed. "Good for him, never knew the git had it in him. I think I told him not to tell her because I hoped he would and save me the trouble of hiding it and staying bloody miserable for the rest of my un-dead life."

Willow burst out laughing and he looked at her oddly. "What?"

"God, it's good to have you back, Spike."

"Now that's something I never thought I'd hear," he muttered.

"We're all grown up now," she pointed out.

He nodded and glanced down at his beer. "Well, let's hope that you _all_ are." He finished the last of his drink and stood up. "Well then, shall we go and tell the slayer that her Martin Guerre moment has arrived?"

Willow looked confused. "Martin Guerre?"

He shook his head in disappointment. "You dating the Frenchie and you don't get it. Sad, sad state of affairs this is." He turned and headed out of the bar, leaving Willow with the bill and wondering how he knew she was dating a French girl! She threw some money on the table and ran to catch up, muttering to herself about how _some_ people never, ever really grew up.

TBC


	5. Homecoming

More newly betead stuff...I'll keep updating them as they are done.

CHAPTER FIVE: Homecoming

Willow walked up to the front door of the house, turned and looked at Spike. "Why don't you go into the front room? I'll find Dawnie and send her down and then I'll go and talk to Buffy."

He shook his head. "I'll wait out here, Red. I don't want to take any chances of Buffy stumbling over me before you have a chance to talk to her. And seeing as she never leaves the house…"

Willow nodded. "Okay, give me a few moments."

He strolled over to the porch swing and sat on it, his hands dangling between his legs as he rocked back and forth. Spike was terrified. While his reunion with the witch had gone better than he could ever have imagined, he figured his quota for good news and happy times was just about over for the night.

The house was silent and although a few rooms were lit, there was an air of sleepiness about it that he knew was a façade. Like a big cat pretending to sleep, Spike knew that there were warriors in that house that could tear him from limb to limb given the order.

And he was terrified that _she_ would give the order first and ask for explanations later.

The silence was shattered by a scream and Spike lunged to his feet just as the front door flew open and Dawn came skidding across the porch. She turned and spotting him standing there, she paused for a second, drinking him in, looking for changes and finding none in his youthful appearance.

"Spike," she whispered, tears glittering in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

"Hello, Bit," he said.

His words set her off and she sprang across the porch and threw herself into his arms, sobbing. She topped him by a couple of inches, but in that moment, as Spike held her in his arms, she was the little girl she'd always been to him.

***

Buffy glanced up as she heard the front door slam. She pushed away from the desk and was about to go and investigate when Willow stepped into the office.

"Did you hear that, Will?" she asked, coming around the desk.

Willow smiled and Buffy paused as she noted the tension at the edges of her smile.

"What's going on down there?"

"Buffy, you need to sit down," Willow said softly.

Of course Buffy did the exact opposite. She pushed back from Willow and strode from the office.

"Buffy!" Willow called and something in her tone caused Buffy to stop and turn around.

"You need to listen to me. Sit down."

Buffy strode angrily back into the room. She didn't hear any fighting so whatever was going on downstairs was not bad. She could hear voices on the porch and she suddenly wondered if Xander or Giles had arrived earlier than expected from Boston.

"Willow, don't push me. What the hell is going on?" she asked as she threw herself into the chair and leaned forward.

"You asked me to find out who it was hanging outside the house."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, our new en-souled vamp. Did you find out who he was and who sent him here?"

Willow nodded. "Yes, I did. And it was the Powers That Be that sent him here."

Buffy closed her eyes. She'd heard enough about the Powers That Be from Angel all those years ago. Thankfully they had pretty much stayed out of her business this last decade. The fact that they were interfering now could not bode well.

"And what do the PTB want?" she asked. She bowed her head and rubbed the back of her neck. She really hoped it was nothing too big. She wasn't into big bads these days. She was just so tired.

"Well, they sent our new vampire from L.A."

Buffy's heart stopped beating and she caught her breath. "What?"

"Buffy, that night in L.A., when Spike and Angel fought Wolfram & Hart and died…"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Spike died and the Powers That Be saved him and sent him ten years into the future. To us."

Buffy stood up and leaned into the desk to prop up her weight. "What?"

"Buffy, Spike didn't die in L.A. that night. He was rescued and sent to an alternate dimension and then the PTB sent him here to Buffalo. He's outside, on the porch, with Dawn. That's what you heard earlier."

Buffy closed her eyes and stared down at the desk. She couldn't look at Willow. Could her friend be lying? Could she be that cruel? What sort of dangerous, horrible game was going on here? Who would do this to her?

How could it be true?

It couldn't be.

He was dead.

He had to be. She could not have lived all these years while he was stuck in some other dimension.

"These last years…" she murmured.

Willow shook her head, "He's lost them. As far as he's concerned, one moment he was in L.A., and the next he's in Buffalo and it's 2014."

Buffy looked up and Willow flinched at the pain in her eyes. "If you're lying to me…"

Willow gasped. "Lying? Why would I lie?"

"How could he be alive?" Buffy cried out.

"Go see him," Willow whispered, stepping aside. "Go and see him for yourself. Buffy, I would never lie to you about something like this."

Buffy pushed past her and ran down the stairs. As she approached the front hall, her pace slowed. The marble floor shimmered and she could feel the cold air blowing in from the open door. She began to shake and the sweat poured down her back as she stopped in front of the open door.

She opened her senses and she could feel a vampire on the other side of that open door. There was a vampire there, with her sister.

It wasn't Spike, she told herself. She'd know if it was him. She'd sense his very being. She'd taken him inside her and it had changed her completely. She would know if it was him on the other side of that threshold. And while she could sense a vampire out there with her sister, she couldn't sense Spike. Everything was blunted and blurred by her fear.

For the life of her, Buffy couldn't take the step to go outside and find out.

"Buffy," Willow called out.

Buffy turned and stared up at her best friend.

"Go outside and see," Willow urged.

Buffy shook her head. "I can't," she whispered.

"You can."

Buffy turned and stared at the doorway. She wanted to call out to her sister, make Dawn bring him to her, as proof.

But she didn't want him to be there either, because that would force her to feel, to step out in the world and be someone for him. To be that someone that she had begun to lose the day he'd died and had kept losing over the course of these last years.

It had been over a year since Buffy had stepped out that door and left this house.

And she wouldn't do it today.

She turned around and walked away, away from the possibility, from the man she'd loved, and from the man who'd died for her.

Willow watched in horror. "Buffy! NO!"

But the slayer wasn't listening.

***

Dawn sat as close to him as she could, gripping his hands and staring at him, her eyes examining every inch of him. She shook her head in disbelief, tears glinting, then spilling over, even as her lips parted in a wide smile.

"I just can't believe it's you. That you're really here!" she murmured, hugging him again. "What happened?"

He gave her an abridged version of the story and was grateful that she didn't ask about Angel. She'd never been a big fan of the poofter anyway.

"Buffy is going to be ecstatic," she said with a smile.

Spike lost his grin. He knew that even at that moment the witch was breaking the news to his slayer. And while he hadn't heard any screaming or yelling and nothing had been broken, the silence didn't bode well for his happy homecoming either.

"Nibleit, I don't know about that," he said.

Dawn shook her head sadly. "She's missed you so much, Spike," she whispered. "She never said it, but anyone could see that she lost something vital the day she lost you. And then…"

"And then?" he urged.

She looked away. "Well, when we found out you'd survived, that you were in L.A. and that you didn't come back to us, well I think that pretty much finished her off."

"Bit, you knew that I couldn't."

She nodded. "Oh, I knew that."

"And I did try, in Italy." Spike felt like he'd explained himself a dozen times in a dozen different ways and that not once had it been to the right person. Not once had it made a difference.

Dawn grimaced. "The Immortal."

"The Immortal," Spike repeated darkly. "The git."

"It was a bad time for her."

"Yeah, pet, apparently."

She brightened up considerably. "But now that you're here, everything will be fine. You can explain to Buffy what happened, and she can explain about the Immortal," Dawn paused and rephrased. "She can try to explain about the Immortal 'cause I'm not even sure she understands it." She hugged him close and whispered. "And then everything will be great again."

Spike closed his eyes. Things had never, ever been 'great'. But he didn't want to tell her that. Let the Bit remember things the way she needed too.

Suddenly he stiffened.

There was a silence on the other side of the open door that signaled a presence. He could feel her, smell her; he could actually taste her on the slight and warm breeze of air that blew gently from the house.

His slayer was there, mere feet away and she knew of his existence. He could hear her heart beating, slow and with a slight hiccup.

"Spike?" Dawn asked. She turned and traced his gaze to the open doorway. "I forgot to close the door," she said softly. She moved, as if to go and shut it, but Spike held her back.

He shook his head and stared.

'Come on, Slayer,' he thought. 'Come on' - ordering her to walk through that door. Even if she slapped him; staked him; he didn't care. Not as long as she left the house and came to him.

"Buffy?" Dawn called out. She tried to stand and again Spike held her back. "Spike? Let me –"

He shook his head. "Leave her be, Bit. She needs to come out on her own volition. She needs-"

"She needs to invite you in!" Dawn said angrily.

Spike smiled at her vehemence. He had the Bit and the witch in his corner. "No, pet, she doesn't need to invite me in. She needs to step out of that house."

They heard Willow call out Buffy's name. Spike knew then that his slayer had left the hallway and had disappeared into the bowels of the house; far from him and far from the doorway to the outside.

Willow stood in the doorway, shivering. She glanced over at the swing. "Come inside you two, it's freezing out here!"

Spike stood, Dawn with him. They walked over to the door and he paused there. He glanced from one to the other.

"I won't go into that house," he said.

Dawn gaped at him. "What?"

He shook his head. "Buffy needs to face me, but more importantly, she needs to face herself and part of that means leaving the house."

Dawn looked down at her feet. "She won't, Spike, she hasn't left in over a year."

He cursed. "How did you lot let it go that long?"

Willow looked up at him guiltily. "It just sort of happened. I don't think we even realized it at the time. She started going out for patrols less and less. The other slayers started arriving and they needed the practice and the training. When we actually clued in, it had been months already and by then it was too late."

"It's never too late," he bit out. "You two have let this go on far longer than is right or good for any of you. And you're going to help fix it."

Dawn shivered and he shoved her back into the house. "Get in, Nibleit, before you freeze." He looked around as an icy wind blew across the porch. "Christ, it's bloody cold here! You ladies couldn't pick a more southern location could you? Bloody Buffalo!"

Willow smiled. "I think we wanted to get away from the memories as much as from the sun. I don't know; it just seemed right to come here."

He muttered something and wrapped his scarf around one more time.

Dawn grinned and reaching into the basket in the hallway, pulled out a wooly striped tuque with ear flaps. She leaned forward and pulled it over his head and down, covering his ears.

"There, that'll keep you warm."

She grinned even as he grimaced in horror.

"Dawn…" he warned. He shook his head. He'd never admit it, but the hat was nice and cozy. "I'll touch base with you both tomorrow." He turned on his heels to leave.

"Spike!"

He glanced back. "Yeah?"

"Where are you staying?"

"Concordia Cemetery," he called out and then disappeared into the whirling snow.

Willow shut the door, shutting out the cold and snow. She turned and faced Dawn. "You okay?" she asked softly.

Dawn looked incredulous. "Okay? Okay? My God, Willow! Spike is alive."

"Un-dead," Willow corrected without cracking a smile.

"Undead, whatever," Dawn said. "He's back."

Willow grinned.

"And he's going to help us bring Buffy back."

The smile faded from Willow's face. Any talk of bringing Buffy back from anything inevitably made her nervous.

TBC


	6. All Grown up and Still Whining

All betaed and ready to go!

CHAPTER SIX: All grown up and still whining

Buffy lay on her bed, straight as a board, her eyes wide open and staring. She tried to take a deep breath, but found that her throat was too tight. She felt like she was being strangled. Fear and indecision had a way of doing that. She'd become best friends with the two of them over the last few years. Now, they were her true companions.

She wanted to go to the window and look- at least see him. But she didn't. She hadn't been able to go close enough to the door to even hear his voice, although her heart yearned to. She wanted to see him, hear him, feel him and touch him. But she just couldn't convince herself to reach out to him. To do that would be to open up a whole world of pain.

She _was_ better off without him; had always been better off without him. It's not like Spike had ever been good for her! My God, the things they had done! The way he'd made her feel! Nothing from that time in her life could have been considered good for her!

Nothing except for those last nights before the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Those nights, wrapped in his arms, feeling safe and cherished, those times had been good for her. And then there were the times he'd watched out for Dawn; the patrols where he'd fought by her side; that moment in the hallway when he'd told her he loved her. Yeah – those moments had been good for her.

Buffy turned over and faced the wall, blocking out the memories.

It was better when she focused on the darkness in their relationship. It was easier to breathe.

There was a knock on the door and she ignored it.

"Buffy?" Dawn called out.

Buffy closed her eyes. Dawn had spoken to him, she'd touched him, been held by him. Not for the first time, Buffy felt the clench of anger and jealousy in her gut. Dawn's relationship with Spike had always been easier. There had been this father-daughter, sister-big brother thing between the two of them that had been easy and natural. Buffy had fought it, tried to break that closeness and while it had certainly been tested and tried, Spike's love for her sister had always remained true and uncomplicated. Buffy knew that Dawn, like Joyce, had always seen past the demon to the poet inside. Something Buffy had never, ever been able to do.

How had Spike put it? She needed the monster in her man? Dawn had only needed a friend and Spike had always been that for her. What Buffy had needed from him had been more complicated.

"Buffy?" There was a rattle as Dawn tried the door.

It was locked.

Buffy heard her sigh and then her sister walked away. And somewhere, deep inside what was left of Buffy's soul, she wished that her sister had busted the door down and reached out to her.

***

Spike tucked the fuzzy tabby kitten under his arm and smiled at the gang of demons sitting around the poker table. The weather might be different and the food might be better, but Spike was happy to see that some things, like kitten poker, were the same everywhere.

"Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I'll keep this one."

Xavier, a distant cousin of Clem's who shared the same disfiguring skin condition, grinned. "Aah, Spike, but he looks so tasty."

Spike grinned. "Exactly. I'm saving him from the likes of you. Besides," he said, gently stroking the kitten's soft fur. "I know someone who'll take good care of him."

The other demons grumbled as they left the table with their less tasty looking winnings. Xavier held back.

"I sent an email to Clem to let him know you're alive. He's thrilled, said he'd make his way here for a visit."

"Grand," Spike said. "Where is he these days?"

"Cleveland. Nice and friendly there, since the slayers cleaned house a few years back."

Spike sniffed. He'd heard about the crackdown and shutdown of the Cleveland Hellmouth. In fact, it had been Willow who'd taken him through that particular history lesson. From Cleveland, Red, the Bit and Buffy had headed to Buffalo, Giles back to London, Andrew was in Boston and Xander split his time between there and Buffalo.

All cold and dreary places.

Apparently demons had developed a fondness for Northern cities after the Sunnydale meltdown.

"It'll be good to see him again."

Xavier nodded and stood up. "I'll pass that on to him and we'll get in touch." He gestured to the kitten. "Sure you won't change your mind?"

Spike shook his head, not even looking up. "No."

Xavier grinned, shrugged, and then left.

"Spike?"

Spike looked up, expecting to see the witch standing in front of him, and then he realized she was in his head.

"Red," he muttered back silently. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" she replied, sharply. "You did it to me – in the dead of night."

"I'm a dead creature of the night," he snapped back. "When was I supposed to do it?"

"Come to the house," she said. "We have a plan."

He shook his head, and then realized how that wouldn't translate over these particular communication channels, he replied. "Not at the house."

He literally heard her sigh.

"Fine, there's a small all hours café on Pine St., Navaeh. Meet us there."

"Us?"

But the witch was already gone.

***

Spike strolled into the café with the kitten tucked into his tuque and hidden beneath his coat. The cat was asleep, out of the elements and feeling safe and secure in the arms of the vampire.

Said vampire spotted the witch right away. She was sitting at the back table, facing the door. At her sides was an army of slayers and Spike, although used to the company of slayers, still flinched. There was a lot of power at that table. And as ancient enemies, soul or no soul, Spike had a hundred year old history that reared its ugly head at that moment. He gave himself a shake and strode to the table.

"Ladies," he said as he looked down.

"Spike!" Dawn called, pulling out the chair next to her.

Spike noted the slayers all shifted uneasily. He didn't miss the sharpened gazes, the hands that reached for weapons and patted pockets.

"Relax ladies, en-souled vampire remember," he said as he flipped the chair around and straddled it. The kitten gave a sharp cry and dug its claws into his side. "Ouch," he muttered, shifting.

The slayers stiffened and reached for weapons.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Relax, I've got no weapons hidden here. It's a kitten."

Dawn grinned even as the slayers' eyes widened.

"Saved the kitten from a poker table, didn't you?" she asked.

Spike nodded. Then he glanced around the table, his gaze landing on the witch. "Okay, Red, what's the plan?"

As she outlined the plan, Spike listened closely. He actually waited for her to finish and then, he looked her right in the eye.

"No."

She gaped. The slayers shifted and glared at him.

"No? Just like that?"

He nodded. "Just like that. I'm not putting the Bit into danger. No way."

"Spike…" Dawn protested.

He glared at her. "All grown up, Bit, and still whining. Well, some other things haven't changed in ten years. I'm not putting you in danger."

"Spike," Willow began. "The only thing that could possibly get Buffy out of the house would be Dawn in danger. We occupy the other slayers so that she can't dispatch them and she's forced to go out and save Dawn."

Spike stared at her. "How do you know she won't think you've orchestrated this to get her out of the house? She knows I'm here, she'll be expecting something like this."

Willow looked away and Spike was immediately suspicious. He glanced around the table and none of the slayers would meet his eyes. Finally he pinned Dawn with his steely blue stare.

Dawn reached over and took her hand in his. He heard one of the slayers mutter something about vampire lovers under her breath, but he didn't even bother to look over.

"What is it, Dawn?"

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. "Spike, what Willow is trying to say is that Buffy isn't really with it enough to think about us orchestrating anything."

"What do you mean? Exactly."

She looked down. "Since you came by the other night, Buffy hasn't left her room. She isn't talking to anyone. "

"And you haven't forced her?" he asked incredulously. He looked at each one of them. Each one looked away from him and he cursed. "Bollocks! The whole lot of you should be ashamed. What are you afraid of?"

"She's the slayer and she's – she's unhinged."

"That's dangerous," Chantal said.

Spike's eyebrows shot up and he cocked an arrogant smile at them. "Dangerous? You're bloody slayers. And you're afraid? Of another slayer?"

"She's unpredictable," Erica said softly.

"And," the blonde with the dreadful hair said softly. "I'm afraid of hurting her."

Spike stared at them. "And this – this is how we've gotten to this point. To the point-" his voice rose steadily as he spoke – "to the point where you're willing to put Dawn into the hands of some flesh eating demons in order to force Buffy to action." He pushed the chair and stood up. The kitten gave an angry mewl. "What happens if it doesn't work? If Buffy doesn't get there fast enough? Then we have no slayers and no Buffy to save her."

"Then you can save me!" Dawn said hopefully.

He looked at her. "Pet, I will always save you. But I will never, ever put you in danger." The cat kneaded his side and Spike looked at them. Not one of them had the balls to do what was needed. And Spike was realizing that his ego had led him down that same path. He'd wanted Buffy to come to him. He had planned on waiting for her and forcing her to leave that house and reach out to him.

"Bleeding hell!" he cursed, shaking his head. "Waiting for her isn't the answer. It's never been the answer. That's always been our problem. We always catered to Buffy's whims. Let her call the shots. Let her make the decisions and we simply went along. Where did that get her? Locked up in her own house! Well, for me anyway, the waiting and humoring is done."

They all stared up at him.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to break down those barriers. Red, I need an invite into the house, but after that, leave it up to me. The days of letting the slayer get her way are over."

He turned and strode from the café, the kitten mewling angrily the whole time. It sort of ruined the macho exit. Willow, Dawn and the rest of the slayers got up, hurriedly tossed some cash on the table and followed him. Spike heard them muttering about letting vampires in the house and the dangers therein.

He stood out on the sidewalk and glared at them. "Let's go!"

It didn't take them long to get back to the house. Spike was spurred by plain old fashioned anger, and the rest of them followed along; out of curiosity or out of fear, it didn't matter. They all wanted to see the showdown.

He strode up the porch steps and stood there in the dark, staring at the door. He handed the kitten to Dawn and looked at Willow.

"Okay, Red, open the door and invite me in."

TBC


	7. Gravity

CHAPTER SEVEN: Gravity

Buffy was exhausted. She turned to her side and stared out the darkened window. A Sara Bareilles song played on the CD player and Buffy couldn't help but feel dragged down into the haunting melody and lyrics.

"_You hold me without touch.  
You keep me without chains.  
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain."***_

She curled up into a ball and pressed her hands into her eyes. They were dry and scratchy and Buffy wished in that moment that she could cry. She'd cried so much that year, after Spike had died in Sunnydale. There hadn't been a night that she'd gone to bed without crying. But after she'd received the call from Giles that Spike had actually been alive and then died, again, with Angel in L.A. she'd simply stopped. She'd kept all the tears inside, until they had frozen, filling her with ice. She knew what it was like to want to drown in someone's love. She knew what it was like to want something she couldn't and shouldn't, want nor have.

It was the goddamn story of her life!

The front door slammed shut and she flinched. Apparently the slayers and the rest of the household were home. If the sounds of the parade of footsteps in the hallway were any indication, they had all gone out to party and returned together.

But their silence told a different story. Buffy remembered the days when she and Willow and Xander used to go out and party together. They had never been silent.

She sat up and tried to listen. She should have been able to hear their breathing, hear their pulse. With her slayer power, she should have been able to close her eyes, breathe in and sense each one of them. She couldn't. Her powers were as dull as dishwater.

Useless.

A set a footsteps on the stairs. Light, but firm and filled with purpose. It wasn't Dawn. Dawn pounded up the stairs. It wasn't Willow. She always sounded like she was hesitating on each step.

No…these steps were…different.

Before she could pull her thoughts together, the bedroom door crashed open and slammed into the wall, embedding the doorknob into the plaster.

Buffy screamed and then froze as she took in the vision standing in her doorway.

"Slayer, enough of this sniveling drivel. Get up and fight me, goddamn it!"

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her heart pounding. God, he looked good. As good as he ever had. Lean and wiry in that long leather coat, his angled face chiseled like the most beautiful marble statue; that platinum hair that screamed to be mussed up; and those eyes. It had always been the eyes that had gotten to her. His eyes were a direct conduit to his heart. And whenever she'd looked into them she'd drowned in his anger, his pain, his torture, his fire, and his love.

Buffy took one look at him, at the first man she'd ever loved as a woman, the first man she'd ever loved with her entire body, heart, and soul. At the man she'd loved and the man she'd sacrificed for the world.

She took one look at him. And burst into tears.

Spike froze, staring at her in astonishment.

"Buffy?" he asked, softly this time.

No answer. Just an endless torrent of tears. They poured down her face, spilling over the hands that she pressed into her eyes. Spike had never seen anyone cry like this. It was a mad, deranged sobbing that brought to mind that poem of Lorca he'd stumbled across a few years back.

"_But the weeping is an immense angel.  
The weeping is an immense dog.  
The weeping is an immense violin.  
Tears strangle the wind.  
Nothing is heard but the weeping." _

Listening to the slayer cry, he felt he finally understood the true meaning behind the poem. It was in the immensity of the act; in the complete and utter abandonment. What he heard here was an all consuming, strangling grief.

Over the sobbing, he heard Dawn gasp. Quickly he tugged the door out of the plaster wall and closed it softly behind him. He walked over toward the bed cautiously, as if approaching a cornered animal and he perched on the edge. With a shaking hand, he reached out and stroked her hair. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and inhaled as her scent wafted over him. She still, after all these years, used the same shampoo.

She flinched and a strange mewling sound escaped her.

"Buffy, love, come here," he murmured softly. He pulled her unresisting body into his arms.

She went, curling up in his lap. Her arms slipped around his waist, her face burrowed into his chest. Spike ran his hand up and down her back, hardly believing that it was real, that she was in his arms. He'd never dared hope to be here. And even if he had, he would not have imagined she'd be in this state.

He leaned back and tilted her face to his. "Look at me, Slayer," he murmured.

She glanced up, her green eyes drenched. But worse than the tears was the look in her eyes. He'd seen the slayer's eyes saddened, when Joyce died. He'd seen her eyes empty, when she'd crawled her way out of the grave. And he'd seen her eyes filled with battle fury, anger, and disappointment. He'd even seen her eyes filled with shame, all those times she'd been with him, after she'd let him do the things he'd done to her, the things they'd done together.

But this, this was new.

Spike had never seen the slayer's eyes filled with bitterness and defeat.

"Don't call me that," she whispered, her voice flat.

He stroked her cheek. "Call you what?"

She stumbled over the word. "Slayer."

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning. "It's who you are."

She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let her go. "You're not going anywhere."

"I'm not the slayer anymore," she said.

He glared. "Bollocks! Where did you get such nonsense?"

"It's true," she whispered.

Shaking his head, he pulled her close. "No, it's not." Spike wondered just how he was going to piece his slayer's heart and soul back together.

Leaning up against the headboard, he drew her close and tucked tucking her to his chest, her head beneath his chin. He stretched out his legs, shaking the kinks out of them, and he glanced around the room. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. Her room in Sunnydale had been filled with childhood and teenage mementoes. Her big brass bed had been covered with that old quilt and the dresser cluttered with pictures of her and her friends. How could he forget the closet spilling over with clothes and the trunk of weapons? While Spike knew that nothing had survived the destruction of Sunnydale, he'd expected there to be at least something in this room that reminded him of the young and powerful girl she'd been. But apparently, Buffy had left her girlish ways behind in the Hellmouth.

This was a woman's room. The walls painted a dark red, the bedding and curtains all a rich cinnamon and gold. There were candles and tapestries and the entire room felt like a luxurious hotel or a Middle Eastern palace. It looked and felt, Spike thought to himself, as if he himself had decorated it. It had the luxurious fabrics and the lush textures that he enjoyed.

"Quite the room you've got here," he murmured. His eyes caught an ornate iron cross and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. She'd barricaded herself in here, like a princess in a tower. "Do you have some garlic and holy water hidden somewhere?"

She shook her head.

"Since when do you go for the gothic decor?" He looked around, taking in a gorgeous iron candelabrum on the fireplace mantel. "Never pictured you as a Goth girl. That was more my style."

Her sobs had settled into body shaking trembles and even then, those faded away, until Buffy was still in his arms and the only disruption was her breathing. Finally, she pulled away and looked at him in amazement. She reached up with trembling fingers and ran a finger down his cheek.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"Saving you," he mumbled, disconcerted by her gentle touch. There had been so little gentleness and tenderness between them. In the end, yes, but the end had been so short. A matter of mere hours.

She shook her head. "I'm beyond saving," she said. "What are you really here for?"  
He shrugged. It was too soon to force her to face herself. "There's a big bad coming and the PTB said that you were going to need my help."

"There are slayers to deal with the big bad these days," she murmured. "Slayers and witches and councils." There was a bitterness to her tone that had Spike paying close attention to each word. He was starting to get a sense of where her bitterness was coming from.

And Spike was fairly familiar with that sense of futility.

"I'm not sure what the big bad is, sweetheart," he said. "All I know is that I was sent here by the PTB."

She pressed a hand into his chest. "They saved you again. Only you're not a ghost this time."

"Not a ghost, but I'm still sort of feeling all Dickens and Christmas carol-like. Not the ghost of Christmas past this time, but future."

She glanced away. "Will said you've been in an alternate dimension for the last ten years."

Another shrug. "Not sure exactly how it worked. One moment I was fighting the big bad in L.A.. Got staked. Woke up in a PTB tribunal and then again in a cemetery in Buffalo."

Years ago she would have picked up on the gap in his story. At the height of her powers, she would have known he was hiding things, she would have pressed and dug, she would have seduced him and if that failed (which it seldom did) she'd have beaten him to get the information out of him.

It was a testament to how far she'd fallen that she simply took his story at face value.

"Ten years," she whispered.

"A long time," he said.

She looked away from him. "A lot has happened in ten years."

"Fill me in," he urged. Then he took the plunge, might as well get the fight started, he thought. "How many of those years did you shag that git, the Immortal?"

She stiffened and he was gladdened by it. Any sign of anger or of defensiveness was better than this resigned bitterness and shame.

"That's none of your business," she replied coldly.

He cocked an eyebrow and stared down at her. "And how do you figure?"

"You were dead," she muttered.

He nodded. "Died saving your world, I did. Hero and all that. And not even four months later you're shagging that idiot, arrogant, Immortal."

"You were dead," she repeated.

"We Victorians had it right, a year of mourning at least!" he pointed out.

"That's ridiculous," she said.

"Ridiculous? More like respectful."

Silence.

"Is that all you're going to say about that?" he asked incredulously. He stared down at her hard, wanting to push her to anger, to make her feeling something. "Was the shagging that good then?"

He didn't think she could stiffen anymore, but she did. She pulled back and tried to climb out of his lap, but he wouldn't let her. He didn't want to lose the physical connection he had with her. It had been so long that now that he had her in his arms, Spike was afraid he'd never be able to let her go again.

"No, you're not going anywhere, pet," he murmured, drawing her back towards him. "Not until you explain. You owe me that."

"I owe you nothing," she whispered. "After what you did, I don't owe you any explanations."

He leaned back and stared down at her in amazement. "What I did? What I did?" He shook his head. "What did I do?" Suddenly, he remembered and every bone in his body turned to lead.

She pulled away from him and he let her go this time. Obviously, she had a very long memory. She'd had years for that horrific night to have faded from her memory. He hadn't had the luxury of a decade. Mind you, a century could have gone by and he would never forget nor forgive himself his complete lapse of control and judgment that evening. Apparently, she hadn't either.

"I've apologized for that night," he said softly, head bowed. He looked up at her, his face filled with helplessness. He lifted his hands in a gesture of futility. "I went to Hell itself and fought for my soul to be a better man for you, to make up for what I did. I burned saving the world for you. I don't know what else I can do to get you to forgive me for what I did."

She'd stood with her back to him, and at his soft pleading, she turned around. She shook her head, looking confused. "What night are you talking about?"

It was Spike's turn to be confused. Surely...surely she hadn't forgotten. "That night, in the bathroom. When I – when I – tried to force you to –"

She stepped over to the bed and leaning over, pressed her fingers against his mouth, stopping the words.

"Don't," she whispered. "Just don't mention that night, ever again. It's over. Done."

He closed his eyes, feeling her forgiveness in the press of her fingers against his lips. Spike felt a tightness at the back of his throat and his eyes burned.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She stepped away and walked to the vanity table that was cluttered with all those fripperies that women crowd their lives and their bodies with. Perfumes, lotions, brushes, paints and pencils; all things women hid behind, he figured. So it surprised him that she turned to those. Buffy had never been a girl for those sorts of things. Oh, like any young woman she'd enjoyed a nice pair of shoes and a well cut pair of jeans, but they hadn't been a priority, not after she'd become the slayer. Not that she'd ever looked the worse for it. If anything, Spike had always loved her natural, girl next door prettiness that seemed to be free of artifice.

He looked closely as she picked up the bottles and containers. There were dust rings left behind. She trailed a finger through it and he wondered what she was thinking.

"If it's not that," he said. "Then what is it? What did I do?"

When she didn't respond, he shook his head in frustration. "Talk to me," he urged.

"There's nothing to talk about," she shrugged and looked into the mirror. She flinched at what she saw and again Spike wondered what was going through her mind. There had been a time when he'd been so much more in-tune with her. Now, it was like looking through fog, everything was blunted and blurred.

"Come on, pet, it's been a decade and it's obvious that something's been on your mind these long years. I'm here, you have your chance. Tell me."

She picked up a brush and sat, absently pulling it through her hair. Spike would have been reminded of a fine Victorian lady doing her toilette if Buffy's posture hadn't been so slumped, her gaze in the mirror so blank.

"I would like you to leave," she whispered.

"Not a chance, so you can put that bloody idea out of your sodding mind," he said with a shake of his head. "It's not happening."

She stood. "Then I'll leave."

He eyed her closely. "Then go ahead, love," he said softly. "Go ahead and leave. You'll have to leave the house because I'll follow you from room to room."

She froze.

"And don't think you'll get any help from the ones on the other side of that door," he continued. "Your pity party is over and all your little guests have left."

She turned around slowly and faced him. Her face drenched with fresh tears, her green eyes devoid of feeling. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he sat and stared at her, entreating her to listen to him. "Love, I'm doing this because no one else has the balls to do it. I'm doing this because you need me to. I'm doing this because I need to."

"Then what _is_ this?" she cried out.

He shook his head. "I'm not sure exactly what this is. I'd compare it to when those bleeding Scoobies dragged you out of that grave, but this, this is a hundred times worse." He stood up and walked over to her and rubbed her arms. "You have to talk to me. I'll help you through this."

She looked up at him, searching his face. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the corner of her eyes, picking up the salty tears. The tip of his tongue delicately lapped at the trail of tears that spilled over her cheek. And finally, Spike did what he'd wanted to do since the moment he'd arrived; he covered her lips with his own in a soft, sweet kiss. He coaxed her lips open and felt relief when she opened her mouth beneath his and sagged into his arms. Then, slowly, her capitulation turned into a draw. She began kissing him back. Her arms snaked around his back and she pressed closer. Spike deepened the kiss and tightened his embrace. He murmured her name and breathed in deeply of her scent, of her breath, and her essence. God, he'd missed this.

He'd missed this more than human blood. Nothing had ever felt as good as his slayer in his arms.

He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

"It always amazed me that you breathed like that," she said softly.

He chuckled and nuzzled that tender spot below her ear. She smelled like soap there.

"It's automatic. I start fighting for breath, a part of me terrified that if I don't get any into my lungs, I'll disappear." He pressed his lips to the tip of her nose, to her eyes, to her lips. "It starts off as an excuse to inhale your smell. To fill my lungs and my senses with you. And then it's like that smell triggers something and I can't get enough, I just keep dragging and dragging those breaths in."

"I like it," she said. "I always did."

His heart sank a bit. "Because you could pretend I was alive?"

She shook her head. "No, because I could pretend that I was giving you life."

Spike paused. If he'd had a heart, it would have pounded. "You were," he murmured. And now, he thought, now it's my turn.

She pulled away. "Were," she said. She shook her head. "Not, 'are'."

Spike waved her protest away. "Were, are, will always be. Don't be stupid." He reached for her hand, but she stepped away.

"No, you're right. I'm not the girl I was."

`He stared at her. "No, you're not a girl anymore. You're a woman. And about the same age as me."

She rolled her eyes. "Spike, I know I look old, but I don't look like I'm over a hundred and twenty five years old."

He chuckled, heartened that she could make a small joke. "Not that age, the age I was when I was sired."

"Oh," she said, thinking of that. Then she shook her head. "But that's not what I mean. You, you fell in love with the slayer and –" she gestured to the room, to the house, to everything. "And I'm not the slayer anymore."

"Are you trying to say that you no longer have inhuman strength?" he asked.

She paused. "No, I still have it."

"And you can't outrun a vamp or stake him in the heart?"

"No, I can still do that."

"And you've been drained of all that slayer blood in you? All that blood of the First Slayer is all gone, is it?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then what, exactly, makes you think that you're no longer the slayer?"

He leaned back and stared at her hard. She looked back and he dared her to look away. He saw how much she wanted to, how much she wanted to break away from that stare, but she didn't and he was heartened by that fact. There was still a bit of a fighter in her. He waited. And when she didn't respond, he did it for her.

"Because you think the world doesn't need the slayer anymore," he stated.

She flinched.

He pulled her close, tucking her tight into his embrace, his chin pressed against her hair. He kissed her soft tresses. "Love, I know what that feels like. The chip remember?"

How could either of them forget the chip? The Initiative had planted a chip in Spike's brain that sent searing stabs of pain through his brain every time he tried to hurt a human. It had rendered him useless and expelled him from his vampire and demon world. After the Initiative, Spike had belonged neither in the human world, nor in the demon world. He'd been a hybrid without a home.

"I know what it feels like to not belong, to have your purpose pulled out from under your feet."

"How did you do it?" she asked. She remembered how they'd treated him how they'd imprisoned him at Giles'. Until they had realized that it was true and he was no longer a danger to humans, they had treated him like an animal. Afterwards, most of them hadn't treated him any better. The Scoobies had always treated Spike as if he'd been the circus freak.

"I recreated myself," he said. "I took everything I was good at – fighting and killing and shagging – and I simply found a new way to do it. I couldn't fight you guys, so I fought with you. I couldn't kill and feed off of humans, so I killed demons. And as for shagging. Well – I did something even better – I had the good sense to finally see you for the woman that you were and I loved you."

"We treated you badly. We were horrible to you," she murmured.

He shrugged. "I went from being an evil, killing beast to a dog on a leash. I wouldn't have trusted me either." He tried to grin and failed. "The worse was making me sleep in that hovel he called a basement. Christ, when I think I had to wear his clothes!"

"You always do that," she said.

"Do what?"

"Make a joke about something serious."

His eyebrows shot up and he pointed to himself. "Me? Make jokes? Come on, pet, you know I'm not funny."

She smiled.

He smiled back.

"Come here, love," he said, pulling her back into his arms. "That's enough for tonight. Rome wasn't built in a day. Tomorrow will be soon enough to redefine your existence in time to face off the new big bad."

Buffy bowed her head and pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She breathed in deeply, hardly believing that he was there, that she was wrapped in his arms.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" she choked out, fighting back the tears. "Tell me this isn't a dream."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "It isn't a dream, pet, I'm here."

"I'm so tired, this all feels unreal." She inhaled deeply, drowning in the memory of his scent. "You smell different."

"How?"

She sniffed deeply. "There's the leather and cigarettes. But underneath that, it's faint, but there, roses and oranges."

He stiffened. "A leftover from the Powers That Be." He remembered that gorgeous, haunting smell. "Not very manly, mind."

She cuddled closer. "I think it smells beautiful. Like heaven."

And his slayer knew what heaven smelled like, having been there and all. Spike smiled and drew her over to the bed. "Let's get some rest. All our problems will still be here in the morning."

"Smelling of roses," she murmured sleepily as she crawled across the sheets.

Spike piled in after her, pulling her into his arms, and the blankets up to their chins. She snuggled down and within moments, she was asleep. Spike settled in for a night of watching his beloved sleep.

TBC

*** Gravity by Sara Bareilles


	8. The Witch, the Key and the Harem

CHAPTER EIGHT: The Witch, the Key and the Harem

Buffy woke feeling rested, a sensation she hadn't had in many years. Usually her nights were torn by nightmares or spent staring at the television, computer screen, or pages of a book. Last night there had been none of that. She'd slept deeply, secure in the knowledge that she was protected.

Tossing back the blankets she slid from the bed. She headed for the shower and a change of clothes. Afterwards she went downstairs, looking for Spike. She knew that he had to be in the house. The bright sun, a rarity in Buffalo in January, was shining and he was stuck here with them until dusk at least.

The hallways were draped in shadow, with only splashes of sunlight spilling through the Victorian stained glass. The parlor and living room were bathed in light; he definitely hadn't been there. She headed for the kitchen, convinced that's where she would find him. Second to the bedroom, the kitchen had always been his favorite room.

Sure enough, the curtains were drawn and the kitchen light was on, bathing the scene in a cheerful glow. And what a scene it was. Spike was holding court with a witch, a key, and a harem of slayers. It was, Buffy decided, like a spoof of a CS Lewis novel and she wondered if somewhere in the house there was an old wardrobe they could all disappear into. There were times when she really wished they would all disappear. When she wished that she was the only one. But how could she ever voice that thought out loud, to any of them?

Only Spike would understand. It had always been like that; he'd been the only one to ever understand her. That had been his gift and her downfall.

He knew the moment she entered the room. His entire face lit up and there was no way anyone in that room didn't know exactly how he felt about her.

"Good morning, pet. Sleep well?"

She nodded.

"Good to see you, Buffy," Chantal said with a smile. "Have a seat, we're just helping Spike get caught up."

Buffy pulled up a chair and grabbed a mug.

Spike held up a red Ipod and raised his eyebrows at her. "This – this is cracker! You can put over six hundred songs on it!"

"You don't know six hundred songs." She smiled at his enthusiasm.

"Aah… been around for over a century. I know plenty of songs!" he pointed out.

Dawn laughed at him. "Yeah, but, Spike, I'm not sure if those ancient songs are available for download."

"What? Download?" His scarred eyebrow cocked in bewilderment. "What's a download?"

"It's how you get the music."

"Right then, from albums, tapes and cds," he stated matter-of-factly.

Dawn chuckled. "Not anymore. Now you get it from the computer and transfer it to the Ipod."

He looked dumbfounded. "So that's how you got all those songs on it?"

She nodded. "The music's converted to files and the files-"

Willow held up her hands. "Enough! Leave him be, Dawn. Chantal has hundreds of songs already loaded on the thing, he can learn to love that music."

Spike looked relieved. "I do," he said eagerly. "That Mobile song was bloody marvelous."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Frenchie here has him listening to all her Canadian crap."

"Hey! Don't knock it!" Chantal protested and she patted Spike's hand, as if he were some harmless puppy. "You can have it. It's loaded and it's good stuff. I'll get another one and just reload it, the music's on my laptop."

He smiled and popped the Ipod into his pocket and slung the ear buds around his shoulders. They dangled there and Buffy was amazed at how natural he looked. It was like he'd never been gone. The slayers sat around him and already she could see how much they hung on his every word, how they stared at him with those slumberous come and get me looks. And he was completely unaware of it. He'd always been confident in that way – he knew he was attractive, but he never set out to attract a woman. It simply happened.

Even Chantal, who was into girls and in love with Willow, was looking at him as if he was first prize at a boxing match. Sam hung on his every word, her dreadlocks bobbing as she agreed to everything he said. The African twins, Maia and Asia, stared at him in silence, but Buffy could practically see their thoughts as they sized him up, wondering what he looked like beneath the clothes, what he was like in bed. The only ones missing were Zoe and Erica. They had had the last patrol so were still asleep in their respective rooms.

But why should she be surprised? She'd pretty much given the go ahead for slayer/vamp pairings when she'd fallen in love with Angel and then followed that up by falling into trouble with Spike. There were no taboos left and she had no one but herself to blame for the worshiping that was currently happening at her kitchen table.

She poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Seems like you're fitting in," she murmured.

He raised his mug of blood in acknowledgement and grinned. "The Bit went and got me some blood for my morning cuppa."

Buffy shot her sister an inscrutable look. "How nice of her."

"I thought so." After a quick glance up at the clock, Spike drained his mug. "You ready for some training, Slayer?"

She froze and stared at him. "What?"

"I understand you have a top notch training facility here?"

She nodded.

He shrugged and stood. "Then show me. Show me what you've got."

Awkward silence fell as several sets of eyes turned in her direction.

Buffy slammed her own mug down and glared at him. "Fine, I'll show you the facilities." She glanced over at the other slayers. "Perhaps one of the girls would want to take you on?"

Maia finally seemed to feel the need to contribute to the conversation, but a warning look from her sister stopped her and she kept her mouth shut.

Spike walked over to the hallway and looked back. "Well then, pet, let's go and fight."

She cursed under her breath and followed. But not before sending a warning look to the ones left behind, ensuring that they stayed exactly where they were. If they weren't going to be doing the fighting, then they definitely weren't going to be doing the watching!

Buffy passed him in the hall, watching as he carefully skirted the pockets of sunlight that spilled in through the window in the front door. She opened the door beneath the stairs and flipped a switch. "We practice down in the basement."

"How very dungeons and dragons," he murmured with a smile and then bounded gracefully downstairs. He came to the bottom and circled, whistling as he took in their training quarters. "Lovely, just lovely."

There were two padded walls, one mirrored one and the other mounted with an impressive assortment of weapons. There were punching bags, treadmills, elliptical and rowing machines. Charts on the doors tracked the slayers' training schedules and progress reports and there was a fridge stocked with water and protein bars.

Spike nodded and turned to smile at her. "You've got yourself a great set up here, Buffy," he said. Then he stopped smiling. "When was the last time you were down here?"

"Last year," she said before she could stop herself.

Spike was grateful for his pale complexion; it meat that she didn't notice his reaction to her words.

"Well, glad I could remedy that then." He stepped toward her and smiled. "That's all about to change isn't it?"

And then he punched her in the face.

Buffy flew back against the padded wall and slid down to the floor. She held a hand to her cheek and stared up at him, panting, her eyes glazed in shock and some pain.

"What the hell?"

"Get up," he bit out. "Get up and fight."

She pulled herself to her feet, shaking with anger as the adrenaline began pulsing through her veins. "I don't fight anymore. There are others to do the fighting now. I'm – I'm retired."

Spike's eyebrows shot up and his tongue curled behind his teeth. "Now that is bloody ridiculous. Slayers don't retire, they die." Before she knew what hit her, he'd kicked her in the gut and followed it up with a punch to her upper shoulder. Buffy spun away and smacked back into the wall and bounced back, right into an upper cut to her jaw.

She gasped and saw stars as she slumped against the wall and tried to catch her breath.

"Do you feel any pain?" he asked.

"Some."

"Only some? Good. Now fight me."

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Then she turned and went at him.

Spike grinned. It wasn't the best shot. And those girls upstairs, Dawn included, could have bested her. But as Buffy began punching and kicking and blocking, he saw some of the old fighter in the smoothness of her moves, if not in the speed or accuracy.

He let her get a few kicks and punches in and when they were both covered in a light layer of sweat, he called it to an end. She immediately collapsed into a chair and Spike went over to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. Handing one to her, he sat down at her feet, staring up at her as she gulped it down.

"How do you feel?"

"Stupid," she muttered, not looking at him.

"Why?"

She shook her head. "I haven't forgotten what I used to be. And now I can literally feel how far from that I've gotten."

"I'm here to help you fix all that," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Hell if I know." He shrugged. "Those pillocks, the PTB, sent me here."

She looked at him closely. "Did you want to come?"

Spike froze, staring at her. How could he explain the choice he'd made; that for him there had been no choice? That she had always been his only choice. But he couldn't tell her that without explaining what had happened to Angel.

He nodded instead. "Yeah, pet, I wanted to come. I always wanted to come."

As her eyes darkened in pain, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. "Then why didn't you come before?"

In the words was all the loss and abandonment she had felt from the moment he'd sacrificed himself to close the Hellmouth, to when she'd heard about his return to L.A. and then his death. Like when Angel left, and her mother left, everyone was always leaving. Buffy looked away.

Spike took a deep breath. It was time to explain...

"Pet, when I showed up in L.A., I was a ghost."

"Andrew eventually told us." She looked up at him in accusation. "But that didn't last forever."

"Yeah, and when I was able to leave L.A., I went to Rome."

The rest was left unsaid, because Buffy knew exactly what had happened. That was when she'd hooked up with the Immortal. A short lived but extremely foolish decision in a series of foolish decisions. God, if she'd known Spike was alive, would she have done what she'd done?

"Why did you make Andrew promise he wouldn't tell me? Why did you go through so much effort to make sure that I didn't know you were alive?" she asked.

He glanced away because he was unable to stare into those vulnerable, green eyes. Funny that, he thought, he'd always wished for her to be softer, kinder, and more vulnerable with him. But now, all broken and torn, he didn't know what to do with her.

"As much as I wanted you," he began, trying to explain, "I knew that what we'd had was over. There was nothing more I could've done to redeem myself for all the things I'd done to you, than to die trying to save you and your friends and close the Hellmouth. I'd gone down in a blaze of glory with the girl telling me she loved me. Remember, Buffy? What was the one thing I ever wanted from you?"

How could she forget that night in the church, his tears, the smoke rising from his pale, scarred flesh as he'd embraced the cross? "She will look upon him with forgiveness and everybody will forgive and love. He will be loved," she whispered.

He cocked his head and smiled. "I got that, you gave me that in those moments in the Hellmouth. What would all that have been worth, if I were back? Nothing. So I stayed dead and fought the good fight with Angel's gang, until I died again trying to save the world. Apparently staying dead is something I'm not very good at, yeah?"  
Buffy tried a smile. It felt strange, but strangely good.

"You didn't believe me did you?" she asked.

He looked haunted at her words, knowing exactly what she was asking. "I believe I saw the forgiveness in your eyes. I believed that, in that moment, you forgave me my sins. I wanted to believe the words…" Then he shook his head. "But the rest? How could I have? How could _you_ have? Forgiveness is one thing, pet, but love?" It was why it had been so easy for Angel to convince him that she was better off without him.

"That's why you didn't find me after, why you made sure I never discovered you were still alive," whispered Buffy.

His slayer had apparently not lost her deductive skills, he thought sourly and glanced away.

"You'd died saving the world for a girl you thought didn't love you," she said. "Why then, try and find her? You'd done enough; she'd put you through enough."

"And then there was the Immortal," he muttered. He wasn't going down without a fight, or at least not without an attempt at the last word.

"And Angel," she whispered.

Spike shot her a nervous look, wondering why she'd brought the poofter up.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "You have a thing for the dark and brooding types."

"Always Angel," she said. "You didn't believe me in the end when I said I was over him."

He shook his head. He still didn't believe it was over with Angel and he didn't think he ever would. Which was why certain secret deals and decisions would stay locked tight in the vault.

"So why would I think you'd love me?" he said. "It's easy to love and fondly remember a dead hero. But how could you have lived happily ever after with an evil, disgusting thing? How did you put it? 'Ask me again how I could love you?' I did, I asked myself and I couldn't come up with an answer." He hadn't meant to throw her words back at her, but there were some hurts that never went away. Some arrows were still embedded too deep.

She flinched then she stood up. "I'm going to take a shower."

Spike guessed the conversation was over. And he realized that while he'd explained his side of his story, she had somehow managed to avoid explaining hers. He still didn't know the full bit about the Immortal git.

"You're going to need some clothes," she said as she looked him over.

"I've got some over at the crypt."

"Will you be staying here?"

"Will I?" He looked at her closely.

She stared at him, then glanced away. "Dawn will insist."

It wasn't really what he was asking, but then, it would have to do. He nodded. "Then I'll go and get some of my stuff."


	9. One Hellmouth of a Snowstorm

CHAPTER NINE: One Hellmouth of a Snowstorm

Spike and Buffy trained hard for a couple of weeks before Buffy would allow any of the slayers to work with her. She trained at night, with Spike, the two of them in the training room while the rest of the slayers slept or patrolled. She fought him and he tested her, pushing her limits until she redefined them and until she regained the strength and confidence that she'd had that night she'd faced the Turok-Hans and the First.

But she still didn't step outside the house.

Spike stared out the window as a late winter snow storm blowing in off Lake Erie piled the snow against the house in thigh deep drifts.

"No wonder she doesn't want to leave," he muttered to himself, glaring outside. "This is bloody ridiculous."

"What's that?" Dawn asked. She looked up from her laptop and smiled at him. Each time she saw him, she was filled with gladness. It was so good to have him back, have him around with his usual dry and sarcastic wit, his barbs and his nicknames. It was good to see her sister smile again. Spike had done that.

He turned from the window, letting the heavy velvet curtain fall back, shutting out the windswept night and the cold. "This snow! It's been snowing for two days!"

"Welcome to Buffalo," she replied.

"You girls couldn't find a warmer place?" He'd asked the question at least a hundred times since coming back. He hadn't warmed to Buffalo, but considering the temperature hadn't yet reached twenty-five degrees and it was early March, that was not surprising. There was something in the air, something out in the night that was causing a spiral of unease to travel up and down his spine. While Spike didn't have a spidey sense, he did have his own good old vampire senses, and they were tingling.

Willow walked in, a preoccupied look on her face that Spike picked up on immediately.

"Red, what's wrong? Where's Buffy?"

"Showering," she replied and he knew then that it wasn't the Slayer causing her worry for once.

"Then what's wrong?"

She looked over at him, appraising him. "You can sense it," she stated.

He nodded abruptly. "The girls, they didn't go out did they?"

She shook her head. "No, all in and accounted for. No one's going out in this weather."

"There's more going on than the weather," he murmured, stepping back to the window and pulling the curtain aside. There was a strange cast to the light that he had blamed on the reflecting snow. But the night seemed to glow as the snow fell in white torrents from a swollen, orange sky.

Willow stood next to him, frowning. "I'm afraid the weather is a front."

Dawn piped up. "A front? As in a cold front?"

Willow shook her head. "No, as in a cover up. There's magic going on and someone has called up this storm to camouflage it."

"How do you know?" Dawn asked.

Willow held up her hands. "I can feel it, in the tips of my fingers and toes. And I just got an email from Page over at the coven headquarters. There have been some signs and several communications from various members reporting strange sensations and activities." She glanced over at Spike. "How can you tell?"

He nodded outside. "I don't know much about snow, but the sky and light don't look right. And then there is just a sense I get. There's a big bad brewing in Buffalo tonight."

"Good alliteration, Spike," Dawn said.

He grinned. "Thanks, Niblet."

"I'm worried," Willow said softly.

"About?" Dawn asked.

"If it's as bad as it feels, I'm not sure we can handle it," Willow replied.

"Handle what?" Buffy asked as she stepped in the room.

Spike turned, his soul lightening at the sight and smell of her. He couldn't stand being away from her for long periods of time and as soon as they were back in the same room, he gravitated towards her, like a plant to morning light. He left the window and joined her, sitting on the loveseat that Dawn had abandoned.

"It seems the PTB weren't wrong in their predictions. There's something wicked brewing out there."

She shivered. "Yeah, like the hellmouth of all snowstorms!"

It disturbed him that she couldn't sense it. Her slayer senses should have been shivering in unease, like his vamp senses and the witch's intuition. But Buffy wasn't back up to her full power and Spike knew where Willow's unease stemmed.

He shook his head and took Buffy's hand in his. She stiffened slightly at his touch and then relaxed. Spike breathed in deeply, calming down, and focusing. He kept hold of her hand. "Not the storm, that's a cover up for the bad mojo going down."

A look of fear and unease crossed her face.

"Just how bad is this juju?"

"Real bad, pet," he murmured. "I can feel it deep in here." He pressed his fist to his chest. "When it's deep in my bones, then I know it's deep, dark mojo."

"So what do we do?" she asked, looking at Dawn and Willow hopefully.

"Research mode," they both chimed up.

Spike grimaced. "Some things haven't changed." He looked around the library. "I'm assuming the secrets to the universe are found somewhere in these tomes? Where's good old Rupert when you need him?"

"We might just need to call him," Willow said, sitting down behind the desk and staring at the computer screen. "And not everything is in these books. The Council has been working hard to rebuild its codex of documents and archives. Before he –" she looked up at Spike. "Before Wesley died, he sent everything from Wolfram & Hart to Giles. So we have an incredible amount of information at our fingertips." She pointed to the books. "Spike and Buffy, you start there. Dawn and I will start with the archives and codex."

Spike glanced around at the hundreds of books. "And what exactly are we looking for?"

"Any demon that can control the weather for its own purposes," she said.

***

Spike rubbed his eyes and glanced over at the Slayer. She was slumped over the book, her fingers trailing over the words, her eyes heavy as she tried to read them. Dawn had gone up for a nap and Red was in her room, on the phone with Giles. The sun was supposed to have been up an hour ago, but there had been no change in the light outside. It was an unnatural dusk at the hour when it should have been dawn. And it would have spelled danger for all humans if the vampires had been able to crawl out of their crypts to feed on them. But with the snow piled up to the eaves of houses, Spike knew the vamps were the least of their problems.

A demon who could not only control the weather, but who could delay the sunrise was not going to be easy to deal with. This realization had prompted Willow to call Giles. And now he and the Cyclops were trying to drive from Boston to Buffalo seeing as all the flights along the eastern seaboard were cancelled due to the weather.

Spike watched as Buffy's eyes slowly drifted shut. He knew that she was relieved that Giles and Xander were coming. More support. Less for her to do. It had been what Giles had feared all those years ago; that it would get to the point where his Slayer wouldn't be able to pick up her sword and fight because she'd grown too dependant on those around her. He doubted Giles had ever imagined the scope of her dependency, just as he wouldn't have imagined that there'd be hundreds of slayers to pick up what she dropped.

Spike stood up and going over to her, he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs. He paused at Willow's office. "I'm putting her to bed. She's done."

Will's eyes were bloodshot and Spike knew that the witch was in need of sleep just as much as the slayer. He was the only one who didn't need to sleep. "Go get some rest," he urged softly.

Her eyes widened in surprise at his concern.

"I can't," she whispered. She gestured to the computer. "We still don't know..."

He shook his head. "You're done in, Red. Go and take a power nap. I'm putting her to bed and then I'm taking the two African queens on recon."

She shook her head. "Not Maia and Asia, they don't deal well with the cold. Take Chantal and Sam – they're more suited to this weather."

He nodded, it made sense, the Canadian and the farm girl. "We'll just go and do some scouting, see if there's any news out there."

She nodded tiredly.

"Go sleep," he said, this time not so kindly. "You won't be any good to any of us if you can't think, witch."

She stood up, weaving on her feet. "Thanks," she said dryly.

"You're welcome."

He turned and carried Buffy down the hall to her bedroom where he laid her down on the bed. He tucked all the blankets right up to her chin and then, to try and fight the chill in the room, he lit the fire in the fireplace and pulled the heavy curtains across the windows.

"Spike?" she mumbled.

He hurried to her side. "Slayer?"

"Where're you going?" Her eyes fluttered open.

"Patrolling. I'm taking two of the girls and we're going to see if we can find anything out there."

She felt a pang of jealousy. He was going without her. Two of the young, strong and beautiful slayers were going with him. She wished she were going and that was saying something.

"Be careful," she whispered.

Any sign of concern from her was a good sign. A great sign would have been if she'd bounced out bed and declared she was going with him.

"I will," he whispered. He bent down and kissed her, happy that she didn't flinch. "Sleep well."

She mumbled something and he left, going to fetch the two lucky girls who were joining him.

***

Sam looked over at him and grinned. "I have to say, Spike, you don't look half as sexy without the leather coat. That get up doesn't do a thing for you."

He stopped in the middle of the street and peered through the whirling snow. While he certainly didn't feel the cold as much as a human, the wind was bitterly cold and bit past his vampire defenses. Looking down at the snow pants, heavy parka, scarf and gloves Dawn had made him to wear, he was reminded of the last time he'd had to borrow Xander's clothes.

"Sam – shut your trap," he growled then gasped as a blast of wind blindsided them.

"Fuck," Chantal muttered. She wiped her ski mask off and glanced around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Pine St." Sam said.

Chantal's shoulders fell in exhaustion. "That's it? It feels farther than that."

Spike glanced around again. "We're only a couple of blocks from the demon bar. Let's go, girls. At the most we'll warm up and get some information. At the least, we'll warm up and have a drink."

Without waiting to see if they were following, Spike began trudging through the thigh high drifts towards the bar.

There was no one out and about. Even though the businesses should have been open, buses running and cars carrying people to work, everyone had stayed home that morning. He guessed it was about noon and there wasn't a soul or demon to be found out on the streets. Street lights were still on, glowing through the flakes of falling snow and he could see lights on inside houses and apartment buildings. Every now and then, a pale face would peer out, catch sight of them and shake their heads at their foolishness. Spike could only hope that Mickey lived above the bar and had decided to be optimistic and opened for business.

It took them another hour to get to the bar and Spike wasn't about to let the girls know, but he was worried. He didn't think they could make it back to the house. His sense of direction was messed up and if he was suffering from the effects of the cold and snow, the girls would be worse off.

They found the bar and stumbled in, letting in a blast of freezing air and snow.

"Hurry and close the door!" someone yelled.

Spike slumped against the wall in relief. Mickey was the opportunistic bastard he'd expected.


	10. An Unexpected Announcement

Chapter 10: An Unexpected Announcement

The girls hurried down the stairs towards the warmth, unraveling their scarves and ditching their hats and gloves.

Spike followed them, doing the same. They congregated at the bar and Mickey stared at them in disbelief. "What are you guys doing out there? Are you crazy?" There was a hint of concern in his voice that was endearing.

Chantal tried to smile, her teeth chattering, her lips blue. "Patrolling, Mickey. Evil stops for no weather!"

He gestured around the bar. "Honey, anyone in this town who is evil is here, so you came to the right place."

The trio turned around and faced the room. Each table was full of an assortment of demons. Some benign, some not so benign. Seems the weather had created a sense of community even among the soulless and undead. A handful of vamps shied away but the Ryken demons simply grinned and waved. Spike waved back.

Sam grimaced. "What weapons did we bring?"

Chantal smiled. "Very few. Too hard to fight in these clothes. Recon. Wasn't expecting to fight."

"And we aren't going to," Spike said. "No one's fighting during a time like this." He waved one last time to the bar's patrons and then turned his back on them. He eyed Mickey. "We need information on the bad magics that's going down out there. Who do you recommend we talk to?"

"Kohlka, she's a vengeance demon and she's currently on the outs with the Fyarl contingent for a vengeance spell gone wrong. I_f_ there's something to know, she'll know it."

"What does she drink?" Spike asked.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Chardonnay. I know – strange but true."

Spike shook his head and muttered something about taste. "Give us a glass then."

Glass in hand, Spike headed over to the table where the vengeance demon sat. Chantal and Sam followed.

"Do you mind if we join you?"

She looked up and eyed the glass in his hand. "Chardonnay?"

He nodded.

She gestured to the chair. "Sit."

They all sat and Spike pushed the glass towards her.

"I reckon that you might have some information about what's going on out there."

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Any idiot with eyes can see that it's a snow storm."

He smiled, charming her with his flashing blue eyes. "Now, pet, you know this is no ordinary storm."

She shrugged. "And? If it wasn't? Why would I talk to you lot about it? A vampire with a soul and his harem of slayers. I've heard about you."

He leaned forward, shifting into game face. "You are going to tell me, my sweet little bint, because whatever bad ass has brewed up this kettle of madness isn't going to care that you're a vengeance demon when he clears these streets. And he especially won't care if the Fyarls are on his side." She paled and pushed the glass of wine away from her. "Now tell me what you know."

She looked down at her hands.

"A shipment came in three days ago."

"What kind of shipment?"

"The illegal kind," she snapped.

"And you know this how exactly?" Sam asked.

Spike glared at her for interrupting.

"Because my cousin works at the airport," Kohlka replied, then turned away from the slayers and focused on Spike. "He's responsible for making sure the illegal shipments get through security and customs with no issues. He then hands them off to an empath demon who sees they get delivered."

"What was the shipment?"

"A lamp."

Spike looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Get bent!" he snapped. "Why the bleeding hell would some lamp be illegal? Where the hell did it come from?"

"India," she replied. "And it isn't just an ordinary lamp! It's an oil lamp."

He shook his head. "Still not sure why it's illegal."

"It was stolen from a maharaja's palace in southern India and is said to be worth a fortune. Priceless."

He sat back, still not seeing the connection, but he knew Red would. All he had to get was information. "And where was it delivered to?"

She shrugged. "Don't know."

"Well then, guess we'll have to pay a visit to this git the empath demon and ask him a few questions. Where can we find him?"

"You can't," she said, pulling the glass back towards her. "He's dead."

He heard Sam curse under her breath and he shrugged. One less demon he'd have to fight one day in the future. He stood up. "Thanks," he said.

Kolhka looked up at him in surprise. "You're welcome."

He turned to the girls. "Let's get back."

Chantal held back for a second and looked at Kolhka. "What did the lamp look like?"

The vengeance demon glared up at her. "How would I know?"

"Because you saw it," Chantal said softly.

A glimmer of fear shown in the demon's gaze. "Did not."

Chantal grimaced and leaned forward. "I'm not a fan of vengeance demons. Watch your back."

She turned to go but Kolka's words stopped her. "It's glass, blue glass with designs etched in. Magic. Ancient symbols. And it was warm. It vibrated as if it breathed and held life." The vengeance demon was definitely spooked. "Whatever was inside it, I don't ever want to see it."

Chantal nodded, then turned and left.

When they stepped outside, the snow had stopped and there was an unnatural stillness to the afternoon that caused them to hurry more than the cold and wind ever could have. Spike worried that whatever demon had stopped the snowstorm would decide to end the unnatural night and that would not be good. He wondered if burying himself in a snow bank to protect himself from the sun would be as uncomfortable and unpleasant as it sounded.

Each minute they trudged through the drifts of snow felt like an hour. It took several to reach the house and when they finally did fall through the front door, both Sam and Chantal had reached their limits.

"Warm them up slowly," Willow barked out orders as Sam collapsed at her feet. She glared at Spike. "What happened?"

Chantal slumped against the wall. "Not his fault," she whispered, her lips refusing to cooperate by forming the words.

Willow grabbed her before she fell. Her face was stark as she looked up at Spike. "Go help the girls fill two bathtubs with water. Luke-warm. Dawn - get blankets and warm clothes for them. Maia – go heat up some broth, there are a couple of cans in the pantry."

Spike hurried up the stairs behind Dawn, shedding his bulky clothes as fast as he could. "Where's the bathroom?" he called out. She pointed down the hall and he hurried, flipping on the light and starting the tub. He stuck his head out the door – "Where is the other-"

Buffy stood there, staring at him, her face pale.

"Buffy?" he said.

She looked past him, to the bathroom, the tub, the towels on the floor. Reaching out, she kissed him softly. "I'll go start the other one, you wait here for Willow." Then she turned and left, and Spike felt one of the last hard, ragged pieces of his heart heal.

***

Willow, Dawn, Spike and the slayers worked together to save Chantal and Sam from the effects of their trek through the storm. Finally, both slayers were warmed up and sleeping, with Erica, Zoe, Asia and Maia watching over them.

Willow listened carefully as Spike explained what he'd discovered.

"A lamp?" Buffy asked. "You're serious."

He nodded. "Yeah, and Chantal mentioned something about it being blue and covered in symbols."

Willow shook her head and turned to the computer. "That can't be good," she murmured. "Ancient artifacts covered in symbols are never good. Usually harbingers of badness."

"Anything covered in symbols isn't good," added Dawn.

"Usually doesn't bode well, pet," Spike agreed.

"Call Giles on his cell and find out how far out of town him and Xander are," Willow told Dawn.

Dawn grabbed the phone and Spike snatched it from her with a smirk. "Let me do the honors." He dialed the number she called out to him and held the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"'Hello Rupe! How's the drive coming along?"

"Spike," Giles replied, his voice cold.

"You got it! Red wants to know where you gits are at and how much longer it's going to take you to get your useless arses here!" Spike said happily.

There was a scuffling and then Xander's voice came on the line. "We'll be there by morning."

"Can't wait to see you, Harris!" Spike said.

Xander growled something that sounded suspiciously like Dawn's name.

"What's that?"

"I said, put Dawn on the phone!" Xander bit out.

Spike glanced at the phone and then shrugged. "Wants to talk to you, Bit."

Dawn smiled and Spike stiffened. There was something in the gleam of her eyes. She took the phone and then turned her back on him. As he heard the last bit of their conversation, Spike felt his blood boil.

She hung up the phone and turned to him.

"Now, Spike,"

He held up his hand. "No! No, no, no....Just tell me one thing. Tell me I didn't just hear you say, 'drive carefully, I love you' to Harris."

Dawn grimaced. "No, I –"

A look of horror crossed his face. "Then you said it to Rupert?"

Dawn froze and Buffy's peal of laughter broke the tension. She took Spike's hand. "No, Spike, she said it to Xander. Dawn and Xander, well, they are sort of married. Have been for two years now."

Spike felt his throat tighten. No. Not my little niblet, he thought. Not – not with – not with the whelp!!! He glanced down at her left hand and there it was. Proof. A tiny gold band. How in the bleeding hell had he NOT noticed that?

He cursed and shook his head in denial. Then, he glared at Dawn, his eyes dark, a frown creasing his brow. Without another word, he turned on his heels and stormed away.


	11. The Poet and the Demon

Chapter 11: The Poet and the Demon

Dawn, Buffy and Willow watched Spike leave the room. Dawn went to follow him and Buffy held her back.

"Dawn, don't," she murmured.

Dawn looked down at her sister's hand on her arm in surprise. It had been so long since Buffy had reached out to her or had shown any real interest in her life; it had seemed like forever since Buffy had cared about anything.

"He loves you, Dawn, you're like a daughter to him," Buffy said softly, she sounded almost surprised by her own awareness of the situation. "It's a shock to him."

"He hates Xander," Dawn said sadly.

Buffy pulled her sister close, surprising both of them. "He didn't like Xander and Xander didn't like him. But things have changed, Dawnie, they are going to have to grow up and meet half way."

Dawn chuckled. "Spike grow up? If he hasn't done it by now..."

Willow chuckled. "You _could_ say the same for Xander."

Buffy grinned. "So we have a magic lamp to deal with and now an invasion of testosterone," she said. "It's going to be interesting."

Willow's eyes widened. "That's it!"

Dawn and Buffy reluctantly pulled apart. "What?" they exclaimed.

"Magic lamp! Aladdin! Buffy you got it – it's a magic lamp – a genie's lamp!" And just as the excitement burned in her eyes, it turned to fear. "Oh, Goddess, a genie," she whispered.

"Big bad?" Buffy asked, almost hopefully.

Willow's gaze met hers. The witch nodded. "One of the biggest of bads."

Dawn shrugged. "We can handle it," she said. Reaching out she clasped her sister's hand tightly in her own. "We can handle Xander and Spike and we can handle a big bad genie."

Buffy grinned. "Hey, if we get our hands on that lamp we could wish that the two of them would grow up and get along."

Despite the threat of both the genie and the arrival of Dawn's husband and Giles, the three girls burst out laughing.

***

Buffy went upstairs and opened the door to their room. While it had been hers for the last seven years, since Spike had returned from the dead and come back into her life, she'd started to think of it as theirs.

Each night, she showered and put on her PJs and got ready for bed with a glass of wine and a book. Spike followed up with his own shower, a glass of scotch, and one of the comic books he pilfered from Sam's collection. Like an old married couple, they read, drank and chatted. And then Buffy turned out the light, curled up into his side, her head on his shoulder, her arms tucked around his waist and she fell asleep. Since Spike had taken to holding her as she slept, Buffy slept better than she had in years.

She leaned in the door and watched him. Apparently he had decided to switch up their routine and the thought caused a slow burn in her stomach. He paced the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, a glass of scotch in his hand. He paused and sipped and then turned and looked at her.

"Pet," he said and there was a warning in his tone. Apparently her vampire had let himself off his leash.

"We were so worried about Sam and Chantal, I didn't get a chance to ask you. Are you okay after that hike through the storm?"

He shook his head, his eyes bright. "Yeah. I just needed to warm up, that's all."

"Well, I think you might need to cool back down," she said.

He laughed harshly and tossed his drink back and set the glass on the table. "I've been cold inside here," he pounded his chest, "for far too long."

"How long?" she whispered.

"Since you told me you loved me and then I burned to save you and your bleeding Scooby gang!" He moved toward her and Buffy watched him in wary fascination. "I did that for you! I died for you and everything in me burned up and turned to dust. And when I came back and found you with the Immortal, I started to freeze. And now, here I am in this godforsaken town, freezing my arse off!"

"The Immortal reminded me of you."

He stopped, eyebrows arched high, eyes opened wide. "Just what the sodding hell are you going on about?"

Buffy shut the door behind her and stood in front of him. She searched Spike's face. "He was so full of himself, confident and brash. He didn't take shit from anyone, but he took it from me. I fought him, just like I fought you. I think I was crazy from losing you and he was just as crazy. And he smoked those same cigarettes and he wore leather and there were times, when I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over his cold, smooth skin and inhaled that scent of ash and leather, I could pretend it was you."

Spike gaped at her. "We don't look anything alike!" He didn't like being compared to that git. "And he's all dark and brooding. More like you were comparing him to that poof Angel!"

She shook her head and reaching out, laid her hand on his chest. It was hard, and cool, and she felt it rise and fall beneath her fingers as he breathed in agitation. "But when he kissed me, I knew it wasn't you. When he tried to touch me, caress me, I knew it wasn't you. It lacked tenderness. It lacked…love. It was only when I lay with him that I truly realized what I had lost."

Throwing his arms in the air, he stepped back and pointed at her. "You're daft, you are! You expect me to believe that sleeping with another vampire _finally_ convinced you that you loved me?" He laughed harshly.

She looked down at her hands, remembering that time. It had been one of her darker moments and considering her past, that was saying a lot.

"All that time I was with you, and I couldn't tell anyone that I was with you. I was the Slayer, I had to be untouchable, I had to be pure and good and then suddenly there were all these others slayers and for the first time since I'd been chosen, it didn't matter who I loved. I could love anyone I wanted. But you weren't there."

She covered her face with her hands and took a deep, deep breath. "You weren't there and I felt nothing but pain and grief." She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in tears. "And anger. I was furious with you."

"How was that different? You were always furious with me. I took your fury because it was better than nothing," he shouted. "But no more! Damn you, I've been love's bitch long enough. I've been your bitch long enough. Get bent, Slayer!" He turned away and strode toward the chair where he'd thrown his clothes, muttering under his breath.

Buffy watched him, panic clawing at her throat. She knew that if she didn't do something, that would be it. He'd died for her, and he'd been sent back by the PTB. She wasn't an idiot -she knew they had sent him back to save her. But he'd given up; because she'd given up. And if she didn't turn this around, they would both be lost. She didn't know what the terms of his agreement with the PTB were, but she wasn't willing to chance it.

She walked to him and laid her hands on his bare back.

"William."

He stiffened. "Don't call me that. William was a wanker. A love sick wanker."

"I love William," she murmured, laying her cheek against his back and sliding her arms around his waist. "I love the man inside you. The man who loves with all his heart and soul, even when he didn't have one. I love the man who reads and writes poetry. The man who touched me with tenderness and protected me and my sister."

He bowed his head.

"Buffy, there's more to me than the poet."

"And I love the demon in the man," she continued. "I love the demon who swears and smokes and shags. I love the demon who fights with his heart and soul and loves with a fierce intensity. I love the demon who kills to protect those he loves. I love the demon who recognizes the demon in me."

He covered her hands with his.

"Buffy," he murmured.

"Don't give up on me," she begged. "Don't give up on us."

"Oh God.....As if I could."

She slipped her hands down and tugged at the towel at his waist.

Breathing in deeply, he let the towel fall to the floor. "Buffy-"

She shook her head, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades and sliding her hands down over his toned abdomen to his groin. He gasped, leaned back into her arms and trembled at her touch. It had been so long and he'd never thought to feel her hands on him again or that she'd touch him so gently. He hadn't thought her capable of tenderness when it came to him.

She stroked him until he gasped and stilled her hand. "No more."

Turning to her, he framed her face with his hands. He trailed kisses down her cheekbone, along her jaw and finally captured her mouth in a fiery kiss.

"Mine," he whispered.

"Always," she answered.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he laid her down gently. He covered her body with his own, loving the contrast between his nakedness and her fully clothed body. "There will be no more talk about me and that twat the Immortal having anything in common, yeah?" he ordered. He pressed his groin against hers, rocking his hips. Buffy gasped and shuddered.

"Never," she murmured.

"And I never," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her neck, sucking on the vein that throbbed there, "never want to hear about him touching you."

"Okay," she murmured, a smile curving her lips. "But unless you get me out of these clothes I might start talking about _me_ touching _him_."

Spike laughed and immediately went to work on her clothes. Within minutes he had her stripped of her sweater and jeans and socks. He looked down at her plain white bra and underwear. There was something virginal and girl next door about how she looked in that moment. He ran a hand down her side.

"I'd lie there sometimes, in L.A, and remember what you looked like. With your clothes on, with them off. Mind, I could never get it quite right. There was always something I'd forget." He traced a finger down her arm, mapping out the constellations of freckles and beauty marks. "Small things like these." He leaned over and pressed his lips to the tiny marks, loving each one. He stroked his hand over the edge of her cotton bra. "You're beautiful."

She looked at him and ran a finger across his chiseled cheekbone. "You are beautiful."

"Handsome. Dashing, maybe. But beautiful?" He shook his head. "Leave off, pet, don't be nasty."

She grinned. "Why don't you get me off?"

His eyebrows shot up and a smile split his face. "Is that a joke or a challenge?"

"Maybe both."

His hand slid down her stomach and she inhaled deeply in anticipation.

"Right then, you can't say that I ever say no to a challenge."

He used his hands, and then followed up with his mouth, bringing Buffy to the breaking point over and over again, pulling away just before she slipped over the edge. And finally, when neither of them could handle any more, he moved between her legs and pushed inside her. He filled her 'til she was bursting at the seams and she tightened around him until he felt like he would explode.

"Aah...love..." he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers even as she rocked her hips forward, taking him even deeper.

"Welcome home, Spike," she whispered. "William. My love."

He smiled. "That's it, Slayer, and don't you forget it." Then he proceeded to make sure she never, ever forgot that he was the only one – poet or demon – for her.

***

He lay back, satiated, hours later.

Buffy rested her head on his chest and ran her fingers down his skin, picking up on the light perspiration that glistened there.

"How come you sweat?"

He shrugged. "Never thought to ask," he said. "Wouldn't know who to ask, mind." He ran his hands through her hair, tousling it even more. "There's all sorts of things about my physiology that I never wondered about. I have supernatural strength and I survive off of blood. Neither makes much sense in light of your religion or science. I figured things like my hair growing or my sweat fall under the same category."

"You were never curious to find these things out?"

He shook his head again. "No, I leave that up to people and places like the Initiative and Wolfram & Hart. Look where that gets you. Some things are just better left alone."

He snuggled close to her, inhaling her scent and smiling. Then, as he thought of his last words, he lost his smile.

"And then there are some things that are better not left alone," he murmured.

"Like what?" she mumbled sleepily.

"You didn't think I was going to forget about Dawn and the whelp, did you?" he asked angrily.

She sighed. "It's late. Can we talk about this in the morning?"  
He glanced at the faint light fighting around the gap in the curtains. "It is morning."

She shook her head. "Sleep, I need sleep. And then I'll tell you about Dawn and Xander."

He shuddered, just thinking about it. "Just tell me, how did you let it happen?"

She opened her eyes and glared at him. "How could I not, Spike? He loved her. She loved him. They needed to be together. Surely you of all people understand love."

He stared at her. She was right, how could he argue with her?

"But, Harris?" he whined.

She yawned. "Yep, Xander. It's Dawnie, Spike. You know how annoying and contrary she's always been. Why do you think she'd go about this any differently?"

He nodded. "You're probably right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

A slight snore greeted his moment of concession. His lover was out cold. Spike decided that after a hike through the storm and several hours of lovemaking, even an immortal vampire needed some rest. He slipped down, wrapped his arms around her, and went to sleep.


	12. Blink Three Times

CHAPTER 12: Blink Three Times

"Sam, you're always leaving your right side open," Spike said in frustration as he placed a kick to her right kidney and she fell like a stone. He stood over her, hands on hips, shaking his head. "It's obvious to any demon fighting you. They'll pick up on it within minutes, Kansas."

Sam cursed, clutching her side. Her blond dreadlocks hid her face. "Then I guess," she gasped, "that I'll have to kill them within those first few minutes."

He threw his hands up in the air. "You can't take a chance like that! You need to break that habit."

She sat up and shrugged. "What does it matter? I'm a slayer, I'm going to die sooner or later. And when I do, there will be another to take my place."

Spike stared at her in shock. "What the hell kind of thinking is that? Are you daft?"

She struggled to stand and faced him. She was a big girl, his height, big boned and muscular. He had to admit that he had a soft spot for her. She wasn't the typical slayer type, she wasn't light on her feet but she was fast and very, very strong. Spike thought she was the smartest of the lot, the one with the most common sense, which was why her fatalistic attitude shocked him and he wondered how prevalent it was amongst the other slayers. He'd need to speak to Giles about it, warn him.

Speaking of Giles...

He held out a hand and she handed him the stake she was carrying. "Go clean up. If I'm not mistaken, I believe that Giles and Harris have arrived."

She grinned. "You don't sound too excited. Usually people around here get excited when Giles and Xander arrive."

Grimacing, he said, "Well, I am unusual I guess. Not much about Old Rupert and Harris to get excited about."

"Good luck," she said.

He looked at her in surprise. "Thanks, pet."

Then Spike turned around and headed upstairs to face his own personal demons.

***

Dawn curled up in Xander's lap and kissed his cheek. "I missed you," she murmured.

He smiled and hugged her close. "Not as much as I missed you."

"I don't know about that."

"I do," he replied and they stared at each other, smiling, in raptures.

"Oh sodding hell," Spike muttered as he walked into the room and saw Dawnie perched in the Harris' lap. From all appearances it looked like Xander had grown into his own, he didn't look like a such a wanker. Or a git or whelp, or any of the other names Spike had called him over the years. Apparently, Spike thought with a grimace, he was going to have to come up with some new nicknames. The parts of Harris that weren't hidden by Dawn revealed a tall, muscular man, with stubble, razor short dark hair and that eye patch that gave him a piratical air that Spike couldn't help but envy. Xander looked tough and ready to handle any situation and fight any demon.

Whether he'd improved as much in the brains and strategy department remained to be seen, but even Spike had to concede that Xander had aged well and looked like a solid fighter.

Dawn shot Spike a warning look which he obeyed. He nodded to her and then quickly took his position next to his own Summers woman.

"I like the patch, Harris," he said, not quite smiling at him. "Suits you."

"Thanks, Spike," Xander replied, tightening his hold on his wife and subtly relaying a message. "You haven't changed a bit."

Spike grinned. "One of the benefits of immortality. I get to keep my young and handsome self."

"Thought you might have changed the look though, it's quite old and dated," Giles said as he walked in with a cup of tea.

Spike's eyebrows shot up. 'Old?' Rupert had the nerve to talk to him about looking old? Giles had aged dramatically over the last decade. His once light brown hair was completely white and his face was lined. Apparently running an order of Slayers and Watchers was difficult work.

"Some things never change," Spike said with a smirk. He glanced at the tea. "Cup o' tea, cup o' tea and that's about it eh, Rip?"

Giles set the cup down on the table and sat. "It's good to see you too, Spike."

Willow placed a tray of cookies and muffins on the coffee table and Xander immediately snatched two of them. She glanced at Spike with a smile. "Chantal is bringing you something to drink."

Xander snorted around his muffin. "Some things never change," he said with a grin. "Cup o' blood, cup o' blood eh, Spike?"

Dawn gently tightened her grip on his shoulders and he looked abashed and sent her a quick glance of apology. She shook her head in warning.

Spike felt his own not so gentle reprimand as the Slayer dug her nails into his arm. "You keep doing things like that and it's right upstairs we're going, Slayer," he murmured.

Xander shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Spike just smirked.

"Truce," Buffy finally said, unable to handle the posturing any longer. "That's enough. Pull it together. We have a new big bad in town and we need to get our shit together and see it through."

Willow nodded and sat down. Chantal came in and handed Spike a mug of blood. He thanked her and she curled up on a pillow at Willow's feet.

Buffy grabbed a cookie and looked over at Willow. "Will, fill them in on what's going on."

Pulling out her notes, Willow flipped through them. "Here's what I've been able to figure out. We've got a genie on our hands. Mid sixth century, Indian. A powerful one that can control the elements. Our source tells us that an ancient Indian oil lamp was smuggled into the city about a week ago. The empath demon used to traffic these sorts of things is dead."

"Do we have any empaths on our payroll?" Xander asked.

Giles shook his head. "They work for themselves, which is probably why this one got killed. If he refused to work for the person who brought the shipment in, he'd be eliminated."

Xander shrugged. "If we had one, we could set him up as the next middle man and see what he could dig up."

"I started doing some research and I think I've dug something up," Willow continued. "Devi Bhuta, is a possibility. She was a minor demon goddess in the Hindi pantheon. Her great claim to fame was that she loved a human prince, but he was wed to another. Her rival made a deal with a God, and Bhuta was trapped in a lamp and given to a distant cousin as a wedding present. Throughout the centuries she's been given as a gift to Indian princes and some of them figured out how to release and use her power, and some didn't. About the eleventh century, we lose track of the lamp."

"What makes you think it's that one?" Buffy asked.

"The description is similar, blue oil lamp etched in ancient symbols. Oh, and she's known for her capricious nature and likes to play around with nature."

Spike shrugged. "So why the big bad? It's a pissy Goddess in a lamp who takes out her temper tantrums on Mother Nature."

"Remember the last time we had to deal with a pissed off Goddess?" Buffy asked sarcastically. "I ended up dead."

"Point taken." Frowning, he turned to Willow. "Okay, Red, what do we have to do?"

"We have to figure out who has it. This person has an incredible amount of power in their hands."

"Isn't it a matter of three wishes and then you're done?" Xander asked.

Willow shook her head. "Myth. Fact is, once a genie is let out of its bottle, its power is at your disposal only so long as you please it. Having a genie under your control is a balancing act. There's usually a payment of some sort for every wish granted. And those genies like to show off. It just isn't the wishes of their benefactor. Once released, they can play as much as they want." She pointed outside to the dim day and the piles of snow. "This is a genie showing off. Showing their benefactor what they can do, sweetening the deal so to say. But a demon with this amount of power, one that can control the elements, and is out of control, is dangerous."

Spike nodded. "Got it. So how do we kill it?"

Willow shook her head. "We can't. We have to find the benefactor, find the lamp and reseal the genie inside. Then a spell is cast to enslave the genie and bind her so that she can't be released."

"Can't we destroy the lamp?" Dawn asked.

Willow shook her head. "No, it makes it that much harder to bind the genie if his or her 'temple' has been destroyed. Whatever we do, we can't destroy the lamp – either before or after we get the genie back in the bottle."

"I don't know about you, but all this talk is making me want to blink repeatedly," Spike said with a chuckle.

Buffy chuckled. "I know. I feel like we are suddenly going to go around calling each other master."

"You can call me master," he said with a leer.

Punching him gently, she murmured, "Later."

He laughed and pulled her closer, then glanced up to find a circle of gazes settled on them. "What are you lot looking at?"

They all quickly averted their eyes, but Spike saw Dawn's secret smile and if he wasn't mistaken, the witch gave him a quick nod of approval.

It was an odd situation for him to be in. The Scooby gang back together and him sitting there among them, with Buffy, accepted and included.

Perhaps, he thought suddenly, the genie had granted him one of his wishes.

The thought filled him with panic. What if this wasn't real? A spell?  
He turned toWillow. "Red, could the genie grant wishes that someone hasn't asked for?"

She looked confused. "What do you mean?"  
"I mean, if someone wished for something, like really wanted it. Say, they wished to be thinner or younger looking, could the genie just grant that wish?"

She shook her head. "Not without you knowing it. Remember what I said, when it comes to wish fulfillment, there is a reciprocal arrangement. Something given and something taken."

No genie granting him his wishes then. He glanced around the gang and then at the woman at his side.

But that didn't mean that he might not have to pay for this happiness at some point. Which left him wondering if the PTB would eventually come looking for some kind of payment. And if they did, would Spike be able to afford it?

TBC


	13. Norman Rockwell it Isn't

Chapter 13: Norman Rockwell it isn't

By midnight the temperature had begun to rise and the snow had started to melt. Spike came downstairs to find the girls in the hallway arguing.

"What's going on? What are you lot up to?"

Six pairs of eyes turned to him.

"Um... arguing?" Sam said with a grin.

Spike chuckled. "About what?"

"Slayage."

He shook his head. "I'm old, you're going to need to be more specific than that."

"To be or not to be," Erica said.

He winced at the famous line being spoken with her heavy American accent.

"Should we stay or should we go?"

He winced again and put up his hands. "Enough. I get it. And my answer is no. Until the snow clears and until we have a bit more information, we stay in. No one's going to be wreaking havoc tonight. Besides, there are no innocent humans out there for the demons to torment."

"He's got a point," Chantal said.

Six pairs of mooning eyes focused on him and he squirmed a little under their admiration. He simply wasn't used to this amount of admiration from his natural enemies. It was damn disconcerting."Poker," he said. "Let's play poker in the parlor."

"Sounds great!" Asia said. "I'll get some snacks."

"I'll get the poker chips and cards," Sam added.

Within minutes, the girls were running off in all directions to change into PJs and get their poker playing good luck charms. Spike's charm took that moment to pounce on his feet and entwine herself around his legs. He bent over to pick the kitten up and he scratched behind the ears.

"Hello, Pumpkin. How you feeling tonight?"

"I see you have a fan club," a voice said from behind him.

Spike turned and saw Giles and shrugged. "Cats like me, always have."

"I wasn't referring to the cat," Giles replied dryly. He gestured to the stairs. "I was referring to the slayers."

Spike's eyes widened and his right brow cocked up. "Didn't set out for that to happen."

"Definitely something about this new generation of slayers that we hadn't foreseen."

"And what's that?"

"Their attraction to vampires."

"Ensouled vampires," Spike pointed out. "There's a difference."

Giles took off his glasses and wiped them absently. "True, but Buffy started feeling something for you before you got the soul."

"It was the circumstances," Spike said. "She'd just crawled her way out of her own grave. She wasn't herself. She could relate more to me than to the rest of you lot."

Giles nodded. "She thought she came back wrong."

"She came back different. Dying does that to a person." Spike shrugged.

Giles glanced to the staircase where the slayers had gone. "And how do you explain this admiration they have for you?"

"I'm dead sexy, I am." Spike grinned.

Giles actually chuckled. "I'll never understand it."

"Good, wouldn't want you to." He slapped him on the back. "Wouldn't want you getting any ideas, Rupert. You're too old for me, mate."

Giles looked affronted and spluttered. "But –"

Spike shook his head. "There is something I wanted to talk to you about. Something about this so called new generation of slayers." Quickly he told Giles about the conversation he'd had with Sam.

Giles looked concerned and glancing around, he stepped into the den and closed the door. "I'm glad you've brought this to my attention. I've been tracking such incidents."

"So it's becoming an issue," Spike said.

Giles nodded. "It is. I haven't figured out where it's stemming from. Past slayers haven't been so fatalistic. Oh, they've all been to a certain extent – it goes with the job. Into every generation a slayer is chosen-"

"I know the drill, Rupert."

"But now, with this surplus, with all the slayers, there is an added sense of futility. A sense of, 'why bother' – there are literally hundreds more where they came from."

"They aren't special anymore, not unique."

Giles nodded. "It's a completely modern phenomenon."

"And you end up with the Slayer who doesn't leave the house, doesn't train, doesn't slay anymore because she figures she doesn't need to."

Giles stared at him.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" Spike asked in surprise. "Why do you think the PTB sent me here?"

"I wanted to ask you about that," Giles interjected. "Do you know what happened to Angel? With the news of your return, the Council was curious. We try, as you know, to keep tabs on the two of you."

Spike looked away and cleared his throat. "Dust. That's the last I saw of Angel." He glanced up the stairs as he heard the footsteps. "I hear my harem coming back and I've got to win some of their hard earned council cash off of them."

"So you've graduated from playing for kittens?" Giles asked with a smile.

Spike grinned and cuddled the kitten, giving her another scratch behind the ears. "Yeah, now I just play with them. Be careful, Rupert. You might start to like me despite yourself!"

Giles burst out laughing and walked away, leaving Spike smiling as he waited for the girls to arrive.

***

Spike stood on the porch the next evening, staring out at the swamp that used to be their yard.

"What a mess," he muttered.

"You should see the basement," Willow said as she stood next to him in the falling dusk. "Xander's down there now with Dawn; they're mopping up the training room floor. It's like the Great Flood down there."

"And out here," he replied.

"That's what happens when an evil genie decides to make summer twenty-four hours after the dead of winter."

And that's pretty much what they guessed had occurred. They'd woken up to a balmy seventy degrees and the barometer had just continued rising as the day progressed. They'd been forced to open windows and turn the furnace off and air out the house. Spike had stayed well out of any beams of sunlight and had watched Mother Nature's turmoil from a safe distance. By nightfall, most of the snow had melted, leaving lakes and rivers of flood water. Thick fog had settled over the city where the hot moist air collided with the cool air of the melting snow.

Willow wiped her brow. "It's got to be ninety degrees."

He glanced down at her shorts and tank top. "Pretty unusual for March I imagine."

"Breaking all the records, so they say on the news."

"They offer any ridiculous explanations?"

"Severe global warming." She grinned.

Spike shook his head. "They're as ridiculous here as they were in Sunnydale."

"They can't know." She shrugged. "Imagine what would happen to society, to civilization, if everyone suddenly realized that the supernatural actually existed."

"Speaking of wolf cubs, do you ever hear from Oz?" Spike asked.

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah, he's a professor now at Berkeley. Whenever he visits the east coast for a conference or a musical festival, he stops in for a visit."

"Never thought to switch back to his team?" Spike asked with a grin.

Willow smacked him in the arm. "No! I'm a one woman kind of gal, Spike."

He shrugged. "Just checking."

"He usually comes to New York for some comic book festival as well, so you'll see him in June."

Spike looked pensive as he stared down at the foot of water in their yard and the rushing stream that had once been their street. "If I'm here in June."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't you be?"

He gestured to the yard and the sinking city. "If any of us are here. If this genie doesn't drown us!"

"We'll figure it out."

They stood in silence, staring.

"Sorry to change the subject, Red," Spike said.

She looked over at him.

"Do you think the Slayer is getting better? Is she ready to leave the house?"  
Willow nodded. "You've made incredible strides with her, Spike. I haven't seen her this happy since, well since she was sixteen and was dating Angel."

Spike stiffened. He didn't enjoy the comparison.

"What was it like?" she asked softly. "In the end, when Angel – when the two of you – died?"

He looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. "We were fighting, side by side, with Gunn and Illyria. We did the best we could. Then the dragon came and we fought it, and then as Angel and I took the dragon down, there were two demons with stakes, they knew what they were doing. We bought our tickets to the great hereafter."

"Except you got a respite and sent back," Willow said and Spike's palms began to sweat.

"Yeah," he said, striving to sound cheerful.

"What about Angel?"

He looked away. "What about him?"  
"Did he get a second chance?"  
What the hell was up with the Angel questions all of a sudden? Spike forced himself to look at her and lie. "How would I know? Not like the poof and I got to see each other after the big dusting."

She looked thoughtful. "Hmm...I wonder. I should look into it. If you got your respite, then maybe Angel got his."

Oh Christ, Spike thought to himself. This is not good!

"I think the PTB were pretty done with Angel," he said casually. "After all the Wolfram & Hart fiasco, I think he'd run out of get out of jail free cards."

She nodded. "You're probably right."

Forcing himself to relax, he turned back to the house. "Well then," he said casually, trying to pretend that that last bit of conversation had never happened. "If you think she's ready, I'm going to see if the Slayer would be up for an evening stroll." He looked back at the flooded street. "Or an evening swim."

***

"No," Buffy said firmly.

"Now come on, pet," Spike encouraged. "It's just a short walk. Around the block. It will do you wonders."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Wonders? Do me wonders? Who kidnapped my poet lover and replaced him with a demon?"  
He grinned. "I am your demon lover and don't you forget it. Now come on, do this for me."

"No and I mean it!" She shook her head. "Don't push this, Spike!"

"Buffy," he said and her head shot up and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't 'Buffy' me –"

"Listen," he continued, as if she hadn't interrupted. "You're ready. You've trained, you're sleeping better, you're eating more, and you're ready to do this. And we aren't going to be fighting any demons, we're just going for a walk around the block!"

Buffy felt the panic clawing at her chest. She gritted her teeth. "I said no!"

He shook his head. "Fine, then you leave me no choice."

"What do you mean, no choice?"  
"But to do this!" he muttered. Before Buffy knew what had hit her, Spike's fist collided with her face. Pain exploded behind her nose and her eyes, blinding her. She reeled back, shocked at his strength, realizing in that moment that he'd been playing it safe with her and holding back his power when they fought.

"And this," he added as he delivered another punch to her side. He shook his head. "What is it about you slayers and leaving your right side wide open?"

Buffy gasped and fell to her knees as the world spun around.

"You left me no choice, pet," Spike said sadly.

Before she could protest, Spike swept her off her feet, threw her over his shoulder, and marched out the front door.

He carried her down the steps as the other slayers, Giles and Willow gathered to watch worriedly from the sidelines. Buffy was in too much shock to protest, he'd driven the air from her lungs so there was no way that she could yell at him anyway.

"When will you be back?" Willow called out.

"We'll be back when I'm damn well bleeding ready!" he yelled over his shoulder as he strode down the walkway, through the open gate, and out onto the sidewalk. He turned to his right and kept walking, at least until he felt they were at a safe enough distance. Then he stopped and set Buffy back on her feet, keeping her steady with strong hands and watching her carefully.

"Now, Buffy, I'm sorry I had to do that, but I was done waiting for you to get a grip. We need a leader and we need the Slayer. Time wake up," he said, staring down at her.

Her face was pale as a sheet and she didn't take her eyes off him to look around.

"How are you feeling, pet?" he asked more softly.

"Shitty," she whispered. "Terrified."

He nodded. "Good. Now look around and see that there is nothing shitty or terrifying about. Well, other than the huge puddles and what appears to be the Amazon running down Elm Street." Spike hoped and prayed, as he looked up and around, that he was right and there weren't any demons waiting to pop out and ruin his plan.

Buffy took a deep breath and lifted her head and turning from him, she glanced around. Trees, with their leafless branches reached up into the dusky sky. The streetlights were, and in the many windows of the residential area, she could see lights turning on and the flashing blue gleam of TV screens.

All normal.

She sighed and bowed her head.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Getting there."

"Good," he said. "Now give me your hand and we're going to go for a stroll around the block and get back before Red puts a locator spell on us."

Taking Buffy's hand in his, they began walking slowly up the street. To anyone watching they would have resembled a young couple out for a romantic evening stroll. It felt strange to Buffy to be walking hand in hand with him. There was no danger, no demons to slay, no vampires waiting around the corner. There was no cemetery or patrol they were headed to. There was nowhere for them to go but for a walk.

"Have we ever done this?" she asked.

He looked down at her. "Done what?"

"Go for a walk just for the sake of going for a walk."

"Never had time to, love, there was always a big bad to slay. Besides, I don't think you would ever have gone for a walk with me if I'd asked. Hated my guts, remember?"

"Not all the time," she said softly. She tightened her grip on his hand.

He grinned, remembering the few good times they'd had. "Yeah, maybe not all the time."

"This is nice though," she said. "We should have done this."

"We have the time to do it now," he replied, broaching the subject. "Now that you aren't the only slayer."

She glanced up at him. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"Just that you aren't the only one and you don't have to do all the work now, you can share the burden."

"I'm still the Slayer," she said angrily. As soon as she saw the smile spread across his face, she knew she'd been had. "You bastard."

"It worked. I got you to finally say it. Buffy, you are still THE Slayer, the source of all their power. Their inspiration. You shared your power to save the world. That makes you more special than you ever were," he said earnestly.

She stopped and stared down at their clasped hands. "I was just so tired of being the only one. It cost me so much."

"Angel," he said stiffly. "Riley, your mom, Tara, Anya."

Buffy looked up at him. "You."

He looked down at their clasped hands. "I'm still here, always was a glutton for punishment."

"Love's bitch," she said with a small smile.

Grinning, he said, "Yeah, that's me. It's a balancing act love. You are still the slayer, their King

Henry the Fifth giving the Saint Crispin day speech and all that. You know, all that _we few, we happy few, we band of brothers _hoorah stuff. But, you can share some of the burden. Don't think though, that in sharing that burden, you've ever lessened your own importance."

"But what if I want to?" she asked suddenly. "What if I don't want to be important? What if I don't want the burden at all? What if I want to just be a normal woman? Live in the suburbs, have a husband, a baby?"

Spike froze. This was new. Take the girl for an evening stroll all normal Norman Rockwell like and she gets strange ideas.

"You want a husband? A baby?" he asked, sounding like he was strangling.

"I'm just saying."

He tugged on her hand, continuing their walk. "You'll never be a normal woman, Buffy. You were not a normal girl, and you will never be a normal woman. You are the Slayer. Deal with it."

"I'm trying," she murmured.

"Locking yourself up in your house and pretending to be a secretary is not dealing with it," he replied dryly.

"I'm trying now," she said.

He looked down at her. "And look, we walked the whole block. Whatever you're doing, it's working."

"It's you that's working, Spike," she said softly. "You're giving me my life back."

As he led her up the steps and back into the house, Spike had to wonder at which point he would not be able to give her what she really wanted. Was it possible that he would end up right back where he started?

A round of applause greeted them when they stepped into the house. Buffy stopped and Spike took a step back, allowing her her moment. She looked at her family, Willow and Giles, Dawn and Xander, and her slayers. They stood there in the hallway, bathed in the light from the crystal chandelier, smiling at her, glowing in happiness.

"Are you done?" she said with a smile.

Willow walked over to her and pulled her into her arms. Over Buffy's shoulder, she shot Spike a grateful smile. Her eyes sparkled with tears.

"We're done, if you're done," Willow said to Buffy.

Buffy hugged her back tightly. It felt strange, but also familiar to be in Willow's arms, to be hugging from a place of hope and faith and not a place of weakness, need or despair.

"I'm good, Will," Buffy whispered. "Thanks for waiting for me."

"I'd wait forever if I had to," Willow murmured.

Buffy grinned and stepped back. "Thankfully we didn't have to wait that long!" She looked around the circle and realized the incredible power that she had standing in that hallway – in front of her and at her back. "Now, let's find this genie and see it through."

"It's what we're always here to do," Dawn hummed. Xander glanced down at her in horror.

"No singing! No more singing demons! Please!"

The Scoobies burst out laughing while Spike simply paled and the slayerettes looked on in confusion.

Buffy shook her head. "Long story," she told them. "And one for another night." She took Spike's hand and started down the hall to the kitchen. "Now let's get something to eat and figure out how we're going to take out this genie."

TBC


	14. The Green Eyed Monster

Chapter 14: The Green Eyed Monster

Spike, Dawn and Xander worked on dinner while Buffy sat at the table with Willow and Giles going over the pages and pages of notes. The slayers helped where they could, but mostly the girls sat back and watched the Scooby gang in action. If any of them had ever thought, for a moment, that Buffy would be back to her full power and a vampire would be making them dinner, not one of them would have admitted to it.

"It's not money," Spike said over his shoulder as he stirred.

Willow looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Whoever's got the genie, it's not about money or all those stupid things people _think_ they would want a genie for." He glanced around the room. "Xander – if you had one wish a genie could fulfill, what would it be?"

Xander didn't hesitate. "My eye back."

Spike nodded and glanced at Dawn. "Dawn?"

"My mother, here, alive and well."

Spike paused for a moment and smiled, remembering Joyce. "My favorite Summers woman," he teased.

Both Buffy and Dawn grinned. They couldn't argue with that.

Spike glanced over at Chantal. "Et toi?"

"Nothing, I have everything I want."

He looked at her closely, as if judging her honesty. "A rare gift that!" He glanced over at Giles. "And you?"

Giles looked thoughtful. "The Cantor Animalis."

They looked at him oddly. "The what?"

He flushed and took his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt. "It's a rare text. A myth really. But said to contain ancient spells."

Spike nodded. His gaze slid past Buffy, he was afraid to ask her so he didn't. Instead, he continued. "See, that's my point. None of us would want money. When it comes down to it, we'd want things that, come hell or high water, we couldn't have. We'd want some sort of power. So whoever has the genie, he or she doesn't want anything mundane like money or beauty. They have that already. In spades. They want what they can't humanly have. Absolute and incredible power over nature and over life and death."

They all looked at him in surprise.

"Tell me again why we didn't listen to you before?" Xander asked in surprise and with a bit of regret.

Spike grinned and shifted into gameface. "Big Bad remember?"

Xander laughed as Spike shifted back.

"Besides," he added. "I wouldn't have been this helpful back then, not in the beginning anyway. I was too busy being a pain in the arse."

"You're still a pain in the ass," Sam said with a grin as she leaned over him and grabbed a piece of red pepper. "A hot pain in the ass, but still a pain in the ass."

Spike smacked the back of her hand with the wooden spoon. "Sod off, wench."

Buffy eyed them and felt a strange sensation in her gut. Jealousy? She watched carefully as Sam leaned into Spike playfully and snatched another veggie, murmuring something about staking him with the wooden spoon and he responded by smacking her again. The girl took the hint and hurried back to the table, but there was a swagger in her step that Buffy had never noticed before and she took a closer look. Sam had been the last of the slayers to join the Buffalo team. When Giles had found her in Kansas city living in a cardboard box, she'd been vicious and fighting anything that moved. She was different from the other slayers. Tall and muscular, Sam wasn't as light on her feet but she kicked and punched harder than any of them, and she was known for sending her stakes straight through the vamps. What she lacked in speed, she made up for in instinct. She was an interesting combination of strength and innocence. There was a farm girl look to her soft, creamy skin and clear, wide blue eyes. But there was a toughness that you just couldn't deny. There was an edge in her glance and a certain disregard for conventions when you took in the dreadlocks and the tattoos.

She was interesting.

And she was clearly experiencing Spike worship.

It was obvious. Buffy remembered feeling it herself. She remembered seeing it on Dawn's face. Even on Faith's at one point.

Buffy glanced over at Spike. Would he?

"So," Giles said, jotting down some notes. "Someone here in town, with an interest in antiquities, and a particular focus on Indian or Eastern antiquities. Someone with plenty of money and who isn't looking for mundane things like wealth, beauty, or world peace."

"I wonder," Dawn mused.

Xander took her hand and kissed it. "What?"

"There's a professor at the university, he's really into Middle Eastern antiquities, and he has some beautiful pieces in his office."

"What's his name?"

"James McElroy," she replied. "I'm not saying it's him, he definitely doesn't have the cash. But he probably has contacts."

Willow nodded. "Let me look into him. Any other suggestions?"

"Check out Jackson Smith," Xander said. "He's a collector. Collects all sorts of oddities. Again, I don't think he has the cash to afford something like this, but he might know someone who does."

"Bianca Bellerose," Dawn added.

They all looked at her.

Buffy gaped. "Bianca Bellerose? What the hell kind of name is that?"

Spike snorted. "Coming from Buffy Summers. That's the pot calling the kettle black, pet."

She arched a brow and glared at him. "Yes, _Spike_?"

He turned back to his stir-fry. "Just saying...there are all sorts of unusual names." He looked over at Sam. "Set the table, please."

The girl jumped to obey and Buffy's eyes narrowed.

"Bianca Bellerose," Dawn continued with a heavy sigh. "She's the richest woman in the state, one of the richest in the country."

"What does she do?" Giles asked.

Dawn shook her head. "Nothing. She inherited her money. Both her father and her mother were old, old money. Her family traces its lineage back to some ancient French and Italian families."

"And she lives here in Buffalo?" Erica asked, sounding skeptical.

"Not all the time," Dawn replied. "But her family has an enormous estate on the outskirts of the city. There used to be a lot of old money in this town, shipping and steel mostly."

"And you know this how, exactly?" Xander asked.

"Her family pretty much built half of the university through their donations. There are scholarships and big galas and the like. She's got a soft spot for this place."

Asia shook her head. "Who knew there was so much going on around here?"

Spike poured the stir-fry into a platter and Dawn dumped the rice into a bowl. They put the food on the table while Xander grabbed the hot sauce and soya sauce from the cupboard and sat down next to his wife.

"You never know," Xander said as he began serving himself. "That's the thing. Everyone assumes all the weird shit goes down in like New York and L.A. And don't get me wrong, lots of weird shit goes down in those cities. But the big bad weird shit? In places like Buffalo and Tulsa and of course Sunnydale!"

"You should've seen the stuff in Kansas man. Crazy," said Sam as she passed Dawn the juice.

Spike glanced over at her with wide eyes and shivered. "Ooh, watch out for those crop circles and flying cows."

Pouring herself a glass of milk, Sam flushed and giggled at his antics.

Giggled, Buffy thought, as she filled her plate. She shook her head. She was going to have to talk to Spike before this situation got any worse. He couldn't continue encouraging the girl's crush.

"Okay, so we have plenty of options to look into," Willow said. She set the papers aside and grabbed the plate of food that Chantal handed her. "I'll do some research tonight."

Chantal spoke around a mouthful of food. "We'll ask around on our patrol."

"And I'll ask around at the school tomorrow," said Dawn.

Buffy looked up from her plate. "I'll take the first patrol tonight." She glanced over at Spike, feeling suddenly shy. "You want to join me?"

He grinned at her, his eyes glowing fiercely with approval and pride and she wondered how she could ever have, even for a split second, doubted the strength of his feelings for her. "I've got your back, Slayer," he said.

Reaching over, she took his hands in hers and returned the smile. "Thanks."

She leaned over and kissed him softly. As she sat back, her eyes met Sam's, letting the girl know in no uncertain terms, just who Spike belonged to.

***

Buffy pulled the stake out and watched in pleasure as the vamp looked down in surprise and then poof, was gone in a cloud of dust.

"Well done, Slayer," Spike said as he dusted off his own hands and pocketed his weapon. "You haven't lost your touch."

"Three in one night," she said. "Not bad."

He grinned. He heard it in her tone. She was elated and relieved. He glanced around the quiet cemetery. It wasn't the one he'd set up shop in when he'd arrived in town. Once he'd moved into slayer headquarters, he'd given over his digs to Clem's cousin who'd been looking for a place after his girlfriend kicked him out. He glanced over at the slayer, lips pursed, eyes gleaming. Really... It wouldn't be the first time.

"Buffy?" he asked softly, his voice low and dark. He walked towards her. She stopped and turned, looking up at him.

"Yeah?" Then she saw the look in his eyes and something inside her shifted. She didn't even glance around. What did it matter to her that they were in a cemetery? Her lover was a demon, a vampire.

Spike grabbed her and pushed her back up against the mausoleum wall. "God, you smell good."

He covered her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue across her lips, teasing her mouth open and tasting its darkness. "I love you," he murmured, over and over again, like a Tibetan chant, convinced that it would bring him enlightenment. "I'll love you forever."

"Thank you," she whispered.

He paused and gazed at her. "What?"

"Thank you." She smiled and framed his face with her hands.

"Why?"

"You didn't ask me what I would have wished for given a genie and a chance to wish for something."

He looked disconcerted. "I was scared to." Always honest, he thought to himself with a grimace.

"I know you were," she said. She shook her head. "And I know there will be a part of you that will always be scared."

He dipped his head. What could he say? She was right.

"But, here's my answer," she said. She kissed him softly. "I would wish for the ability to love someone with my whole heart and to be loved that way in return."

"I love you with my whole heart and from the bottom of my soul."

She smiled and kissed him again. "And for that, for granting me my wish, I thank you."

He didn't let her say another word. Grinding his mouth against hers he slid a hand up her sweater while the other fought with her pants. He pushed them down to her ankles and pressed his knees between her thighs, feeling her dampness as his fingers teased a response from her. She gasped his name, her hands dropping to his zipper.

"Now" she panted.

"I'm trying, pet, I'm trying," he said with a hoarse chuckle.

She smiled against his mouth. "Try harder."

He growled, his frustration causing him to shift into gameface. He froze.

"What?" she asked, glancing up in confusion. She traced the ridges on his forehead and stared into his glowing eyes. "I love you. The demon and the poet. Don't stop now."

Closing his eyes, he sighed, pressed his forehead against hers and she felt the ridges against her skin. She ran her tongue over his incisors and shivered.

"I want you," she moaned.

"You're killing me," he answered with a laugh, pushing his pants down. She kicked hers off and he lifted her leg high up, hooking it over his lean hip. He pressed himself deep into her, groaning as he sank inch by inch into her heat.

"Oh, God," she whispered, the prayer falling from her lips like spring rain, warm, wet and filled with promise.

He buried his face into her neck. Just one more sacred space on her body that he adored. He fastened his lips on the vein that pulsed hot and wild beneath his tongue. His mouth salivated. Soul or no soul, nothing could still his hunger for her. He ground his hips against hers and sucked on her neck. He felt her muscles tighten around him, and her entire body tensed until he felt like he was trapped in a vice grip.

"Spike!" she shouted.

"That's it, Buffy," he urged. "Let go."

She pressed her face into his neck to muffle her screams as she experienced the beautiful release that only he could give her.


	15. Belle of the Ball

Chapter 15: Belle of the Ball

Dawn walked into the house three days later with a big smile and waving a thick parchment envelope. "I got us in."

Spike looked up from his book and grinned. "Got us in where, Bit?"

"The gala event at Bellerose Manor. Big swanky ball. Got us invites. Well, four of them anyway, so Xander and I, you and Buffy – we're going to the ball!"

"Nice work. When is it?"

"Saturday," she said. She tossed the envelope onto the table and looked at him. "We've got to get you a tux."

There was no doubt. Spike looked a bit frightened. "A tuxedo…"

"Yeap! Suit, bow tie! Isn't it great?"

"And Xander has one already?"

She nodded, grinning. "From the wedding, hopefully it still fits him."

"Hope what still fits me, babe?" Xander said as he walked in and dropped a kiss on his wife's head.

She glanced up and smiled, her face so full of love that even Spike had to see it. His little bit was indeed all grown up. She'd surpassed all of his expectations.

"Apparently, Harris, we're going to the ball and your wife here is a little concerned you've packed on too many pounds to fit into your monkey suit."

Xander looked down at Dawn, offended. "Me? I'm lean. I'm mean. I'm a muscle machine, honey."

Dawn shot Spike a warning look and stood up. She wrapped her arms around Xander, noting that it did indeed seem a bit more of a stretch. "I've got us in to the ball at Bellerose Manor on Saturday. Let's go and try on your tux. I just want to make sure it still fits."

She led him from the room, and Spike could hear Xander protesting the whole way. He folded the page of his book and headed up to tell Buffy the news.

***

"What am I going to wear?" she asked in horror when he showed her the invitation.

"You?" He glanced down at his jeans and t-shirt. "This is pretty much my uniform, love."

"We can rent you something," she said.

He looked horrified. "Rent? As in wear something that someone else has worn?" There was enough of the Victorian gentleman in him to be appalled at the thought.

She rolled her eyes. "Your leather coat?"

"That's different, I won that on the field of battle," he protested.

"It's common practice. Guys do it at weddings all the time."

"Dawn said that Xander bought his for the wedding!" He said, shaking his head.

She paused, thinking back. He was right. "Okay, we'll see what we can find you. Erica knows clothes and we'll find you a tailor who won't ask too many questions."

Happy that he'd gotten his way, Spike sidled over to her. "And you? You gonna get a little black number? All slinky and sexy?"

"Is that what you'd like? Black? Slinky?" She grinned, sliding her arms around him.

He nodded. "Hmm...and tight." He ran his hands down her sides. "Silk draping over these curves, so when I look at you, I know exactly what you're wearing underneath." He leaned forward and took her earlobe between his teeth and bit. Hard. "Nothing at all."

"Ouch!" Buffy cried out and bonked him on the head. Then, with a laugh, she grabbed his t-shirt and dragged him down onto the bed.

***

Spike looked down at himself and pulled at the jacket sleeves. A slight band of the crisp white shirt showed bright against the cuffs of the black suit. He adjusted the bow tie and ran a hand over his hair . It wasn't jeans and a leather coat, but he thought he looked damn good. He ran his hand over his hair, smoothing the curls and he grinned.

She was going to love it.

Hearing the door open he turned, expecting Buffy, but spotting Sam instead.

"Hey, Kansas, what's up?"

She stared, pursing her lips and whistling. "Wow. Spike, you clean up all shiny and new like a penny."

He smirked, strutting over to her, turning to the right and the left, letting her check his suit out. "Just a penny? I'd hoped I'd be worth more than that."

"Just a cliché," she said. "I came up to see if you needed help with the bow tie. Xander is screaming bloody murder and Dawn is about to strangle him. Buffy is busy, so I figured I'd see if you needed help."

"How does it look?" He tweaked the bow tie. "I figured it out with a bit of trial and error."

Stepping up she reached out and straightened it. "It's perfect," she whispered, fighting past the lump in her throat.

He looked down at her in concern. "You okay?"

When her eyes filled Spike stepped back in horror. He'd faced down demons from hell, the First, a Hellmouth and an apocalypse or two. But this? A girl in tears?

The worst of the lot!

He took her by the shoulders. "Sammy? Pet? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"No!" Not able to help herself, she leaned into him and breathed in deeply. He smelled wonderful, something spicy and woodsy mixed in with his usual elixir of citrus and rose and ash. She sank into his arms, and although he was as hard as marble and she could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, there was no heart beat against her breast.

"Sam?" he asked again, he stood back and looked at her. He loosened his neck and shoulders, trying to relieve the tension. The entire situation was making him feel uncomfortable.

"I can't stop thinking about you," she said, closing her eyes, fighting back the tears. She let go of him, pushing her dreadlocks back over her shoulders. "I dream about you, when I'm sleeping and every freaking free moment of the day, I think of you." She opened her eyes and stared, their blue depths reflecting oceans of tears and agony. "I'm not supposed to. You're a vampire for freaking god's sake! I should hate you! It's in my nature to despise you, not care about you like this. And it's tearing me apart!"

Now Spike was really horrified. "Sam," he said helplessly. "I-I don't know what to say."

"There is nothing to say," she whispered, shaking her head. "I know you love Buffy. I know you will always love her. You died for her. You'll never be able to top that - to do that for another woman. And it kills me that I'll never have what she has." She closed her eyes and dipped her head. "I love her too, that's what makes this so hard. I love her; I worship the ground she walks on. And I want what she has. It isn't enough that I have the power that she shared with me. But I want you too and I know I can never, ever have you and it's killing me."

In that moment, Spike felt her pain; he knew what that felt like, to love in vain.

"Oh, Sam," he whispered, his heart going out to her. She was so young. Not much older than Buffy was when he'd fallen in love with her. Sam was too young to be hurting this way. Was it just the way of a slayer? That they would love unwisely? That they would have their hearts broken, over and over again to harden them? He drew her into his arms. "Shhh...." he whispered, rubbing her back as she sobbed.

"I was downstairs and everyone's so happy, everyone's helping get her ready for the ball. It's like she's freaking Cinderella and she looks so gorgeous and I know that as soon as you see her, you'll be lost again and I'll see that look in your eyes, the look that screams that you would die for her a hundred times if it meant that she'd love you, and I want to be her!" Sam sobbed softly. With every word, Spike felt a jab in that spot where the ghost of his heart beat its phantom beat. He felt helpless. "And I knew you were up here and just for a moment, before you see her, before you fall in love with her all over again, I wanted to pretend that I meant something to you."

She sounded like a child, like a little girl.

She was a slayer. She'd killed demons, fought with her bare hands for her own life.

But in some ways, she was still a child.

Spike stepped back and tilted her chin up and met her eyes. "Sam," he said gently. He leaned forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. "Shhh."

Her eyes widened, her lashes clumped together with her tears.

Spike tore at his bow tie and let the ends fall to either side of his neck. "Help me tie this," he said softly.

She blinked, the last of her tears falling. With a shuddering breath and shaking hands, she reached out and took the ends of the tie. "I used to do my daddy's tie each year for the Christmas ball," she said, her voice husky and low.

"What happened to him?"

She paused, concentrating on the tie. "He's still alive; he's a doctor in Kansas."

"How did you end up living on the streets?"

"When the change came, I went out of control, and he didn't know what to do with me. I broke some laws, got put into juvie and ran away. That's when Giles found me."

"Have you been in touch with you family since then?"

She nodded. "Giles made me. We went to visit them and Giles sat them down and explained everything, gave them the proof they needed and all was well." She tugged on the tie and then stepped back. "Looks good."

"Thanks, Sam," he said softly.

"I don't want to feel this way." She looked at him and shook her head.

"I know how that feels."

"Does it go away?"

His love for Buffy had never faded, never gone away. Looking down, he ran a hand over his face. How could he tell this girl that? Look how long it had taken him and Buffy to get where they were! Look how much she'd tried to find love, to be in a normal relationship. Maybe slayers were never meant to have that. Maybe, as heroes, they were supposed to walk alone. And as he looked at Sam, he saw that she suspected this would be the case.

He pulled her into his arms, and even though, if anyone were to ever ask Spike if he believed in God, or if he prayed, he'd probably say no, Spike prayed for her in that moment. He prayed that his little Kansas farm girl would meet the man of her soul and dreams, and when he did walk into her life, she would know it, and she would be blessed.

Staring down at her as he pulled away, Spike ran his finger across her bottom lip. He thought of what Buffy had wished for. "You're a beautiful, strong, powerful slayer. And someday, when you're ready, you will find someone you love with your whole heart and who loves you like that in return." He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

She stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides and then with one last look at him, she turned and ran.

Spike sighed, what a fucking mess.

Turning away, he ran his hands over his hair, fixing what her hands had mussed. He wiped his mouth, making sure there were no signs of gloss or lipstick. Feeling the slight guilt that suddenly trembled inside his soul, he cursed that soul that gave him his conscience. Then he grabbed his wool overcoat and headed downstairs.

Their voices carried up to him. The girls were laughing, Buffy's husky chuckle verging on a giggle, a sound he hadn't heard in years. Probably not since the day that Red had cast the spell and he and Buffy had fallen under it, thinking they were in love and getting married. She sounded giddy. Young and very un-slayer-like.

He rounded the corner and stepped into the front living room, where they gathered to watch TV and play cards; Dawn called it the family room. Standing there in the doorway, looking at his "family", Spike could understand why.

"Wow!" Chantal whistled as she caught sight of him. "Spike, magnifique!"

All eyes turned to him, but he only had eyes for his slayer. Everything but Buffy was forgotten, just as Sam had predicted.

She shown in a gown of midnight blue trimmed in silver beads. The gown clung to her from the tiny jewel like straps to the glittering hemline that skimmed her ankles. She clutched a silver beaded bag in her hand and her silver high heels gave her a few extra inches. Smiling, she turned and his mouth went dry. Her hair was piled up, leaving her long, lean, powerful back bared to the waist.

"You look gorgeous," he said, walking to her and pulling her into his arms for a searing kiss.

Xander cleared his throat and rolled his eyes more out of habit than anything else and Erica cheered, while Giles wiped his glasses and muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.

When Buffy and Spike came up for air, she smiled. "I take it you approve."

"Wholeheartedly," he murmured.

"You look very handsome," she said, running her hand over the lapel of his jacket. "You clean up nicely."

"That's what Sammy said," he blurted out without thinking.

Buffy's eyes darkened. "Sam? When did you see her? Where is she?"

Spike looked towards the door and hall on a pretense of looking away from her. "She helped me with my tie. I thought she was behind me, but she must have stopped in the bathroom or maybe she's in the kitchen." He turned back and pressed a kiss to Buffy's lips. "But she mentioned that I cleaned up nicely. I believe she compared me to her father." Sort of, he told himself.

Quickly, he turned to Dawn and smiled. "You look lovely, Bit." She smiled, modeling her black silk gown.

Xander gazed at her proudly and took her hand.

Buffy set aside her misgivings, reminding herself that when Spike had walked in and seen her, there had been no one else on his mind. "Okay, do we have everything?" she asked, checking her clutch for the invitations.

"Everything," Xander called out, patting his pockets out of habit, looking for a weapon. Stakes were strategically hidden in Spike and Xander's overcoats, but female evening wear wasn't built to holster stakes and swords. So in addition to Xander and Spike's hidden cache, each of them carried a small protection talisman that Willow had prepared, and Buffy had a tiny sachet of herbs in her purse that would work at subduing the genie if they were lucky enough to find her.

"Alright then," Dawn said brightly. "We're off to the ball!"

***

Spike looked around the glittering ballroom and scoffed. "Old money indeed," he murmured to Xander.

Xander glanced at the gilt mirrors and down at the tiny French Louis Quatorze chair he was fearfully perched on. "It all looks pretty old to me," he said. "And rickety."

"It'll hold your arse, it's been holding the arses of rich gits for hundreds of years." Spike said with a smirk.

"I've gained weight recently," Xander said mournfully.

Spike laughed. "Come and work out with me in the training room. A few rounds with me and the slayers every day and you'll be trim in no time." He glanced over the ballroom at their hostess. "I'll put you up against Sam and Erica. Between the strength and the speed, you'll drop fifteen pounds in a week."

"Speaking of Sam," Xander said.

Spike shot him a quick look. "What about her?"

"Come on, Spike, you've got to have noticed that the girl worships the ground you walk on."

Spike shifted and looked back over the crowd. A moment ago he'd been counting the minutes to when Buffy returned from her short little recon mission to the bathroom. Now he was hoping she'd been slowed down staking a few vamps on her way.

"Yeah, it's crossed my mind," he said casually.

"You should talk to her," Xander said softly. "Let her down easy like."

Spike sighed. He wasn't used to these man to man talks, but Harris had brought it up and frankly, he had no one else to talk to about it. "I did," he said. He quickly filled Xander in on the earlier conversation, leaving out that last little chaste kiss. "So hopefully I've set her straight. She's a bright girl, she'll get over it."

Xander stood up, spotting Dawn and Buffy moving towards them. He slapped Spike on the shoulder. "It's too bad Angel's not around," he said, causing Spike to stiffen in shock. "If she's got a thing for en-souled vampires we could have fixed them up!"

Buffy slipped her hand into his and kissed his cheek. "Whatcha two talking about?"

"Louis Quatorze," Spike said quickly.

"Soccer," Xander said.

Spike closed his eyes as both women looked at them in suspicion.

"Nothing," Spike said, kissing Buffy softly on the lips. "Did you find anything?"

She shook her head. "No, but there were two women in the bathroom talking about you."

His eyebrows shot up as Dawn laughed. "Yeah, Spike, apparently you're the best looking man here this evening."

He puffed up, standing a bit taller, and his smile widened cockily. "Is that right? Well, smart women they are!" He glanced around. "Where are they? Perhaps I'll go and ask them to dance."

Buffy laughed, dragging him towards the dance floor. "The only woman you're dancing with is me."

He slipped one arm around her waist and took her hand in his, pulling her close, as they waltzed around the ballroom floor. Although he hadn't waltzed in years, his body knew the moves and he glided as if he'd been dancing for centuries. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that it was over a hundred years ago, and he was still William and the woman in his arms was Cecily.

"You're far away," Buffy whispered, looking up at him.

He smiled and stared down at her. "Just remembering the last time I'd waltzed. Eighteen-eighty I believe."

"As William."

He nodded. "Yeah." He spun her around, and they glided around the room. "And here I am, in 2014, a vampire dancing with a slayer in a mansion called Bellerose."

"Are you happy?" she asked.

When he looked down, he could see the concern on her face. "I wouldn't trade this for anything," he said. He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled her closer, closer than any waltz in his time would have allowed. But Spike was not living in the past, he'd more than embraced his present. "Not for the world. Not for all the bleeding Tetley's in all the pubs in the known universe."

Buffy laughed, closed her eyes, and lost herself in the dance.

***

An hour later, they snuck into their hostess's private quarters.

"If we're caught," Spike said, looking at the lavish king size four poster bed. "We'll pretend we were looking for a place to shag."

"As if anyone would believe that."

"I'll make them believe it," he replied with a leer as he pawed through the nightstand.

Nothing.

He turned his attention to the closet.

Buffy walked into a small dressing room and stopped. "Spike," she whispered.

"What?" He stepped up behind her and stopped.

There it was, proudly displayed on Bianca's dressing table, one beautiful lamp among a glittering array of gorgeous perfume bottles.

"It can't be this bleeding easy," he muttered.

"She's a woman," Buffy said, glancing around her surroundings. "A vain and very, very confident woman. Why would she even think to hide it? This place is a fortress and she doesn't realize that someone was on to her anyway, so why hide it?"

"Don't know, but it just seems too easy." He walked past her and reached for the lamp.

"No!" Buffy whispered, grabbing him.

He looked at her in surprise. "What? I thought we were here to take it?"

"We are you idiot! But I have to put a spell on it first. Otherwise, if we touch it, we might call out the genie and then we'll be the ones to have to deal with it."

"I don't know, a female genie to fulfill my every wish...not a bad idea that is."

Buffy glared at him. "You have a female genie fulfilling your every wish. ME!" She reached into her purse and grabbed the packet of herbs Willow had given her. "Now move away from the lamp and let me do my thing."

"Bossy, bossy," Spike said. But he smiled. It was grand to have his slayer back in a commanding performance.

Whispering the incantation Willow had her memorize that morning, Buffy shook the herbs over the lamp. She closed her eyes and counted to sixty and then reaching out with a muttered prayer, she touched the lamp. Cold. Safe to pick up.

She turned to Spike. "Okay, we can go now."

"And where exactly would that be to, I wonder?" Bianca Bellerose said coldly.


	16. Annoying Heiresses

Chapter 16: Annoying Heiresses

Spike whipped around and stared at her.

There was no doubt their hostess was a gorgeous woman. Tall and slim, her long black hair spoke of Italian heritage, while her large features and elegant nose reflected the French blood in her family tree. Standing there in a crimson dress, she looked powerful and deadly.

"I believe that's mine," she said, holding out her hand.

"Not anymore," Buffy replied coldly.

"Who are you?" Bianca asked in surprise. She glanced at Spike. "Who are you and your vampire companion?"

He started and Bianca smiled. "I smelled you when you walked in to the ballroom," she said. She leaned towards him and inhaled. "Beneath the stench of that soul of yours, I can still smell the brimstone and ash of hell."

He decided in that instant that he hated this woman. Casting a glance at Buffy, he asked, "Can I kill her?" he asked.

Buffy looked startled. "Why ask me?"

"You know, soul and all, I've got me a conscience now, not sure I can deal with killing her unless I have a really good reason."

"She had the empath demon and who knows how many others killed to get this lamp," Buffy pointed out. "And she's probably planning some sort of apocalyptic event to demonstrate her new found power. You don't need my permission."

Spike shifted into his game face and grinned at Bianca. "What kind of demon are you anyway? I'd like to know so that when I do kill you I make sure it's permanent."

She let loose a high pitched peel of laughter. "I'm not a demon, vampire. If I were, do you think I would need the power of a genie?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Point taken," he said amicably. "So it doesn't matter then exactly how I kill you. Since you're human, dead is pretty much dead."

She sneered in pure malevolence. "You can't kill me either, fool. Do you think a dead heiress will go unnoticed?"

"In my experience," Spike replied. "Most heiresses are silly little bints and are better left unnoticed." He glanced over at Buffy. "But, she's got a point. Again." Spike _really_ hated this bitch.

Buffy shrugged. "Then hurt her. Badly."

As Spike moved to grab their hostess, she opened her mouth and cried out. "Devi Bhuta!"

When nothing happened, Bianca's eyes widened. "Devi Bhuta!" she commanded angrily.

Buffy grinned and held up the lamp. "You can knock all you want. No one's answering the door."

"What have you done?" Bianca hissed.

Buffy waved her hand. "Oh, just a little lullaby spell. It put your genie to sleep."

"You bitch!" Bianca screamed.

"Buffy would suffice. You don't know me well enough to call me bitch!" Buffy said as she backed up against the dressing table, clutching the lamp. She glanced around and didn't like the circumstances. Spike was deeper into the dressing room, further from Bianca and the door. Buffy, while closer to the door, would have to fight past their hostess to escape. Willow's warning echoed in her ears. 'Don't break the lamp!' There was something else she'd said, something important. But as Bianca's claw like hands reached for her, Buffy couldn't remember that something else. Bottom line, she had to get that lamp out of there in one piece. If… Her eyes met Spike's. She lifted the lamp and nodded to him.

"Catch!" She threw him the lamp and didn't even watch to see if he caught it; she had no doubt that he could and would. She turned her attention to Bianca and focused on teaching the uppity snob just which bitch she was dealing with.

Spike watched in horror as Buffy threw the lamp to him. It arched through the air towards the floor and the memory of Willow's voice reverberating in his head. "Don't break," he muttered as he lunged across the dressing room. "Don't bloody break!" He stretched out, reaching as far as he could, and he felt the fragile lamp tumble into his hands. "Argghghghg!"

He crashed into the floor, cradling it to his chest. And then he looked up to find his Slayer deliver one last kick to their hostess.

"Buffy?"

She glanced over at him, panting.

"Yeah?"

He looked down at the lamp, an odd expression on his face. "I think something went wrong."

She paled. "What?"

"The lamp is warm, is it supposed to be warm? Sort of hot even?"

Buffy's eyes widened in horror as she remembered that last important bit Willow had told her. "The lamp has been activated by Bianca," Willow had explained. "You're only putting it to sleep. Once you've done the spell, don't let anyone else touch it. It can't leave your hands. You need to bring it straight home so we can finish sealing it in. Otherwise, if someone else touches it, they will awaken the genie and it will be under their command."

Buffy cursed and, glancing down at the architect of this whole mess, she gave the groaning woman one last kick. "I suggest you leave town," she muttered. Then she looked at Spike, who was staring down at the lamp in growing fascination. "Spike, we need to get home. NOW!"


	17. Wishes

Chapter 17: Wishes

Buffy yelled for Willow as they ran into the house. Xander and Dawn stared at Spike worriedly as he stood in the hallway, looking down at the lamp. They couldn't pry it from his hands. It was as if his hands, his heart and soul, were frozen and only the warmth of the lamp was keeping him alive.

"Willow?" Buffy yelled again.

Xander jumped. He looked over at Spike, the vampire hadn't flinched. He simply stared down at the lamp, his face calm and contemplative.

"Spike," Xander said gently.

He didn't look up.

"Spike, why don't you put that down on the table here," Xander said, pointing to the hall table.

"No," he murmured. "She's singing to me."

Xander's eyes widened and he looked up at Dawn in worry. "Singing? Oh God. This can't be good. Singing is _never_ good!"

Spike shook his head. "Devi Bhuta. She's singing this beautiful song to me, I don't recognize the words or the melody, but it's gorgeous."

Buffy grimaced, her eyes filled with anger and fear. "Willow!" she yelled again. "Christ, where the hell is she?"

"I'm right here," Willow called out as she came hurrying down the stairs. "I was on the phone with Andrew. What's wrong?" She paused on the bottom step as she took in everyone's frightened faces and Spike's hypnotic gaze. "Oh hell," she muttered.

Buffy quickly explained what had happened in Bianca's dressing room.

"The good news," Buffy finished, "We got the genie away from the crazy rich bitch with delusions of grandeur. The bad news, we forgot that last bit you told us and Spike got a hold of the lamp as we were making our escape. Now he won't let it go."

They looked over at him.

"Spike?" Willow called out softly. When he didn't look up, she frowned. "This is powerful magic, centuries old."

"He said that she was singing to him," Xander said. "Sounded spooky and not in a spookilicious sort of way. Spooky in a big cosmic crappilicious sort of way."

Willow stepped down into the hallway and went to Spike. "She's calling to him," she murmured. "Weaving a spell and seducing him with dreams and visions of wishes coming true."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Seducing him? Listen here, Will, you need to stop this right away. No one is seducing him but-" She glanced around, shrugging. "Well, you know what I mean."

Willow shook her head. "She's not seducing him in a smoochie sort of way, Buff. She's seducing him with promises of a different future. She's selling him a dream of a happily ever after future."

Buffy frowned. "But, how would that work? Spike's happy now, what else could he want?"

Willow shrugged. "I don't know, Buffy." She looked over at her friend. "But the genie knows and she's selling it for all she's worth. See, if Spike buys it, then he let's her out and she grants him a couple of those wishes and he pays her in kind and she gets to play around and wreak havoc. It's her nature."

"Then maybe we should stop standing around here gabbing about it, and drop the curtain on this rousing operatic symphony she's got going on," Xander exclaimed worriedly.

"You guys go and get changed. I'll do what I can to break the spell and reseal the lamp."

Buffy shook her head. "I want to be here with him."

"No," Willow said firmly. "I can't have anything here to distract him or anything that she might use against him. His feelings for you make him vulnerable to her."

Buffy looked like she wanted to protest more, but Dawn took her hand. "Let's go and get cleaned up and changed. By the time we're finished, Willow will have Spike back to normal."

Dawn dragged Buffy upstairs and Xander stayed behind. He looked at Spike, then at Willow. "Will, can you fix this?"

She nodded. "I can." She hesitated for a moment and then looked over at him, her eyes wide with fear. "I think."

"I liked your first answer. I think I'm going to stick with that one." He looked at Spike, his face filled with worry. "Don't – don't let anything happen to him." Then he turned and hurried upstairs.

Willow smiled gently at his departing back, and then she turned to the vampire who hadn't moved nor spoken during this entire conversation. She reached out and took his elbow and directed him to the family room. "Spike, let's take the lamp in here where it will be safe."

"Okay," he said.

She sat him down on the sofa.

"What are you thinking about?"she asked him.

He looked up at her helplessly. There was a part of him that knew that what he wanted was wrong. "I want her. I want to call the genie out."

Willow shook her head. "Don't. Please don't do that."

"But then I could give everyone what they're wishing for."

Willow closed her eyes. "Spike, there is always a price to pay for this sort of wish fulfillment."

He stared at her, entreating her to believe him. "But wouldn't it be worth it? I could give Harris his eye back. I could bring Joyce back for Dawn and Buffy. I could find Sam her soul mate." He paused and looked at Willow. "I could give you back Tara."

She froze and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I know, Willow," he murmured. "I know what you feel inside. That no matter how much you love Chantal, she isn't Tara. Losing her meant losing a part of yourself. I know that, because it's how I feel about Buffy. But –" his face brightened. "I could change all that!"

She shook her head in sorrow. "You can't bring them back, Spike, the cost would be too high."

"But how do you know that?"

"Because with magic," she said sadly. "It always is. You and I both know that. It's why you've always hated magic."

He shook his head. "I know I could fix everything with the genie. She'd fulfill my wishes but my wishes would all be for the rest of you." He looked back up at her. "That's got to outweigh the dangerous part of all this, wouldn't it?

Willow stared at him. She knew that part of this was the influence of the genie. Devi Bhuta had had thousands of years to learn how to manipulate men and women. She knew how to tap into their fears and their desires and use them against them to convince them to release her, to do her bidding. And in this case, Devi had one hell of a soul and a life to play with and manipulate. Spike had a century of emotions, desires, guilt and wishes for the genie to call upon and play with. It wouldn't be difficult for her to find the right combination of elements to convince him to release her.

"What about you, Spike?" Willow asked. "All your wishes would be for us, but what about you?"

He looked up, his face ashen, his blue eyes glowing like gas flames. "I'd do anything to make the rest of you happy."

"You don't have to do anything to make us happy. We are responsible for our own happiness."

He shook his head. "I'm responsible for Buffy's happiness. I hurt her so much, now I'm responsible. And I could make her happy. The genie could make all her wishes come true."

Willow shook her head. She had to get that lamp out of his hands before he did something truly stupid. "Spike, the only thing that makes Buffy happy is you. You are the sum total of all her wishes and dreams."

Spike bowed his head. "She wants a husband and a baby." His gaze met Willow's and she saw past the magic to the truth that ate away at his soul. "She wants a normal life, Red, she always has. Before she was chosen and after. She wanted to be a normal girl who went to school, dated, and went to college. And now, all these years later, she wants to be a normal woman, with a husband to grow old with and a job and children. I can't give her that." He stared at the lamp in his hands. "But the genie could give it to her."

"How?" Willow asked softly, determined to make him see the danger.

Spike looked up at her. "I could ask the genie to make me human," he whispered.

Willow's heart sank. That bitch of a demon had hooked into the heart of the matter fast, Willow thought to herself. The reality was, although Spike had Buffy back, they were together, and they were happy, there was one small inevitable truth that no one ever mentioned. He was immortal and she wasn't. Where could their relationship ever, ever go? The genie knew exactly how to get to him. If he were human, he would no longer be immortal. Problem solved.

Willow reached over and covered his hand with her own. She had to convince him that magic wasn't the solution to their problem. "And then what Spike? Make the genie give you inhuman strength? Speed? Save you when a bullet or knife hits too close to a vital organ? When would it stop? You would just go through your entire human life begging the genie to give you things. You'd be a slave to her. Is that what you want? What Buffy would want?" she said.

"But it wouldn't be for me. I would do it for Buffy." Spike thought back to the mission the PTB had given him. Save Buffy. Help her find herself and give her her life and her heart's desire. And here in his hands, was the key to fulfilling Buffy's every desire.

"Devi B-"

"No!" Willow shouted. She reached out and grabbed his hands. The lamp fell to the table and lay on its side, undisturbed. She released a sigh of relief.

Spike's hands felt cold. He looked at the lamp in yearning. It was over. As soon as the lamp had fallen from his hands, he'd lost that connection and reality had come crashing in on him. He knew that Red would never, ever let him near it again. He would never have the opportunity to mend all those broken fences by playing Santa Claus and giving everyone that bright, sparkling Christmas morning. No eye for Harris, no Joyce for Dawnie, no soul mate for Sam, no Tara for Willow and no wedding and baby for Buffy. He closed his eyes. God, he was exhausted.

"Spike, look at me," Willow commanded. He looked up. "Regardless of what Buffy thinks she wants, you are what she needs."

"Willow, she's said it, she's mentioned getting married, being a mother." He looked down at his now empty hands. "She'd be an incredible mother and how can I get in the way of that? I can't be her husband. I can't stand in a church and marry her. I can't give her babies. How the hell would we explain that to the PTA? Little William's daddy sure looks good for his age!" He shook his head in frustration and slammed his fists against his knees. "I love her with every single fiber of my heart and my soul. I love her more each and every day. But how can I watch her get old, childless while I stay the same?" He looked up at her, beseeching her to understand. He found only tears and pity. "It was one thing when I thought that it didn't matter to her. She's the Slayer, her life expectancy is what? Another ten years, maybe? I figured we'd have a hell of a time for the next decade and both of us would go down in a blaze of glory. But now, now she's talking about retiring and planting gardens and white picket fences." He shrugged. "What are my choices? I stay around for the next few years and then leave, breaking her heart again? At least with the genie, I could make everything right for everyone."

Willow shook her head, tears pouring down her face, her heart aching. She reached for his hands. "I can't, Spike. I can't let you release the magic."

Spike stared down at their hands. There was one more choice, one more possible way he could give Buffy the future she desired. He just didn't know if he was strong enough to do it.

"Angel is alive," he whispered.

Willow dropped his hands and stared at him.

"What?"

Before he could change his mind, Spike was telling her everything. The final battle, the court room, the Goddess, the choice she'd given him, the choice he'd made.

"Angel fulfilled the Shanshu prophecy. He's human. He can give Buffy what she wants. He can walk in the sun with her, marry her, give her children, and grow old with her. He can fulfill her in ways that I can't, no matter how much she loves me. She loved him once, when she sees what he is, what he can be for her now, she'll love him again."

Willow's eyes filled with tears. "Oh God, Spike," she whispered. She drew him into her arms. "We'll figure this out," she murmured. Over his head, she looked at the lamp. Such a beautiful, innocent looking piece of art. Could it be that awful? Let him make his wishes and then she'd reseal it and hide it. Everyone could have what they wanted. It could be so easy...

Tara...

Willow closed her eyes and bit her lip. Goddess, she prayed, help me.

A memory took the place of the beautiful image of Tara she held in her mind. It was the memory of standing on the cliffs overlooking Sunnydale and preparing to destroy the world. She remembered the wind, the smell of the sea, and the power coursing through her veins. She remembered the darkness that had eaten her soul. That darkness was the price. There was always a price to pay for using magic, Willow remembered, her body trembling as she fought the urge to give in to Spike and to the genie. She breathed in deeply; refocusing, remembering Tara, and she found the strength to resist. She'd lost Tara because she'd chosen magic over love. Willow would never do it again, nor would she let anyone she cared about do it.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she murmured the incantation that would seal the genie in its lamp for forever and a day.

As if he felt that last connection break, Spike collapsed in exhaustion. Willow laid him back on the couch and pulled the blanket over him. "I'll figure this out, Spike," she whispered again, brushing his hair back. He looked like an angel sleeping there and she knew that he _was_ the guardian angel that Buffy needed. No matter what he thought, Willow knew that Buffy would never turn her back on him. She needed him like air and like water. But Willow had to find a way to convince him of that, or they would never have peace in their relationship.

With a sigh, she stood up and grabbed the now ice cold lamp, and carrying it upstairs, she put it where no one would ever find it. Then, regardless of the time of night, and the woman lying in her warm bed waiting for her, Willow turned on the computer and got to work.


	18. Coming Clean

Chapter 18: Coming Clean

Winter returned to Buffalo with a vengeance. No power hungry heiress and giddy genie were wreaking havoc with nature this time around. It was just plain old northern winter. March had come in like a lion and its roar had yet to abate.

Spike glanced out the window, past the drifts of snow and ice on the sill to the lifeless black branches of the trees that reached up to the gray winter sky. One thing about Buffalo, it provided an almost endless stream of cloudy, sunless days. Perfect for his kind.

"Spike?"

He jumped as Buffy came up behind him and slid her hands around his waist. He quickly folded the letter and tucked it away.

"What's that?"

"A letter from Gunn," he said, deciding to stick as close to the truth as he could.

"Oh, how is he?" she asked, sounding interested.

"Good, he's met someone, thinking of getting engaged." Spike watched her carefully.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "How sweet."

It was definitely there, he thought to himself, that wish to wear the ring and the dress. Every little girl dreams of it; every woman secretly plans for the day. Why would Buffy be any different in that regard?

Because she's different in every other regard, the voice of reason argued. Spike wasn't known for listening to the voice of reason. He acted on instinct and gut, pure and simple. And his gut was churning.

He sat down and turned to the computer. Buffy slid into his lap and drew his attention from the screen back to her. "Remember when we were engaged?"

He tried to smile but failed. Was she _reading_ his mind these days? "How could I forget? Didn't you want "_Wind Beneath my Wings_" for our wedding song?"

"Ouch," she winced. "I think so. But I would definitely pick something different now."

"You've got plans that I don't know about? What's his name?"

Tilting his face up to hers, she grinned. "William."

He closed his eyes and she leaned down and pressed her mouth against his. Tightening his grip around her, he enjoyed her kiss and the confidence with which she was approaching their lovemaking. And he wished that it would last forever.

_He_ would last forever.

She definitely wouldn't.

Her fragile, fragile flesh. Slayer strength with human mortality. She'd already proven it twice by dying.

She sat back and looked down at him. "What's wrong?"

Glancing away, knowing he couldn't look her in the face and lie, Spike said, "Nothing. Just got work to do is all."

"Since when is work," she wiggled in his lap, leaving neither of them in any doubt as to what was really on his mind, "more important than other things?"

"Giles has me working on these psych profiles of slayers, I'm doing research," he said defensively.

"And I know it's very important work, but there's something going on."

He shook his head.

Buffy's heart seemed to harden. "Is it Sam?"

He shot her a look of both surprise and alarm. "Sam? Why?"

"She doesn't go near you anymore, hasn't since the night of the ball. What happened?" she asked sharply.

Spike shook his head. "Nothing. She thought she had some feelings for me. I clarified things for her and she's just licking her wounds. Nothing more than that."

"And how exactly did you clarify things for her?"

Spike stared at her in amazement. Was the Slayer jealous? Could it possibly be? That was his territory. But if he wasn't mistaken...that was jealousy in her tone.

"What are you implying?"

"Do you have feelings for her?"

He pushed her off of his lap. "Are you bleeding insane?"

"Am I?" she asked.

He threw his hands up in the air. "Apparently! I've never given you any reason to doubt my feelings for you. I love you. Have always loved you and will always love you and only you!"

"Then why do I get the feeling lately that you're planning an escape route?" she asked softly. "Is it that you feel your work here is done? You've done what the PTB asked you to do, helped get me back on the right path, and now you figure it's time to leave?"

He sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Buffy..."

"What is it, Spike? Because I know there's something."

"It's not _something_," he whispered. He knew that he wouldn't be able to live with it. He had spent most of his relationship with Buffy living for her, catering to her needs and desires, wanting to make things good for her. He wanted to make her wishes come true. Even this last one. "It's _someone_."

"Please tell me you aren't pulling the 'it's not you it's me' card cause if you are, I'm going to go all slayer like on you and it won't be pretty or hot!"

Reading over, he grabbed her left hand. He ran his finger down her ring finger, imagining the beautiful diamond ring she'd wear. The white dress, the veil, Giles walking her down the aisle, the entire church bathed in sunlight.

"Do you want to get married?" he asked softly.

Buffy's eyes widened and she smiled beautifully. Her happiness was so bright, so overwhelming, that for a split second, Spike was stunned. Then his soul shriveled.

"Oh my God! Spike! Yes! Yes!" She threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly.

Realizing his mistake, Spike pulled her hands from around his neck and pushed her away. "Buffy, wait, you're misunderstanding me. I'm not asking you to marry _me_, I'm just asking you if you want to get married someday. You've mentioned it before."

She stepped back and stared at him in hurt and bewilderment. "What game are you playing?"  
"Just answer me. Do you want to get married someday?"

She nodded uneasily, not sure where this was leading. "Yes."

"Do you want to have a family?"

"I have a family," she said softly.

"That's not what I mean. Do you want to have your own family? Children of your own?"

She paused, glancing down at her stomach. It was something she'd wanted when she was younger, and then when she'd become the Slayer, it had been one of those dreams that she'd put away with the dolls and tea sets. But now, with all the slayers, Buffy could lead a normal life when the time came. If that was what she wanted.

Almost as if he'd read her mind, Spike continued. "You could have a normal life now if you wanted one. Husband, two kids, the house in the suburbs, a dog named Rolf. It could all be yours now."

She nodded.

"But, Buffy, that can't be mine."

She stared at him. "What are you saying? That I have to choose?"

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Buffy, really, there is no choice."

"There is. I'd rather have you than those things," she said softly.

Spike believed her. He knew that in that moment, Buffy believed herself. She'd felt the pain of losing him, she'd suffered without him all these years and he knew that with the pain of that memory so fresh, she honestly believed that a half life lived with him was a hundred times better than a full, normal life lived without him. But he knew that over time, as the years went by and she aged and he stayed young, as those around them settled down and had their own families, as their friends moved away, died, moved on, she would realize more and more just what she'd given up to be with him.

"What if," he finally said, "what if I told you that you could have all those things and a great love as well?"

She frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Before he could continue, there was a soft knock at the office door. Spike sighed in frustration. "Come in!" he hollered.

Willow pushed the door open and poked her head around. She spotted Buffy and smiled. "Oh, I didn't know you were here, Buff. Spike, I need to talk to you, but I can come back later."

He looked at her and she stared back at him. He saw it in her eyes.

"Did you find him?" he asked softly.

Willow's heart ached. She nodded.

Spike lowered his head and she closed the door and left them alone.

Buffy watched the interaction between the two of them with growing unease and fear. "Spike, what's going on?"

"Sit down," he said softly. "Please."

"Not unless you sit with me," she pleaded.

He went to the couch and sat down and she took her place next to him. "Now tell me what the hell is going on."

He took a deep breath and then he started. He told her about the last fight in L.A., the PTB tribunal, and the Shanshu prophecy. And then finally, Spike told her about the choice he'd made.

"You chose me?" she whispered. "You chose me over a real, normal, human life?"

He nodded, unable to look at her.

She grabbed his chin and forced him to. "So you gave up a real life so that Angel could have what he wanted and you gave up your life for me? Again?"

"It wasn't like that," he said. "I wasn't like Angel, I didn't want it as badly as he did. I wanted you more."

"Do you think he would have chosen me if he'd been given the choice?"

Spike thought about it for a moment, thought about those last months he'd spent with Angel, how Angel had seemed to have done what Spike had never been able to do -move on after Buffy. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "Thank you for choosing me. For saving me. Again." She smiled. "You've made a real habit of that."

"It was an easy choice," he said, unable to help but return the smile.

"And thank you for telling me," she said. "I sort of understand why you kept it to yourself. But I'm not quite certain why you've brought it up now."

"You need to go to him," Spike finally said. The words seared through him. It was so hard to say them; it hurt more than dying had.

Buffy sat back and stared at him in shock. "Go to who? Angel?"

He nodded.

"Why the hell would I want to do that?" she practically shouted.

"So you can live the life you were meant to live."

She slipped off his lap and stared down at him. "I'm going to kill you," she said matter-of-factly. "If I had a stake, I would dust you right now. You son of a bitch!"

"Wait a bloody minute," he said, jumping to his feet. "Where do you get off being pissed off at me?"

"You come in here and tell me this tale about how you sacrificed yourself yet again to save me and then you just assume that regardless of this sacrifice, I would waltz off and hook up with Angel? The vampire who didn't choose me?"

"He's not a vampire anymore," Spike shouted.

"So?" she yelled back.

"So he can marry you and give you children and grow old with you and die with you!" Spike cried out. "All things that I can't do!"

She stared at him, her eyes swimming with tears. She wiped them away angrily. "We are right back to where we always are," she said in disbelief, shaking her head.

"And where is that?" he asked, more calmly.

"With you the big lover, making all the sacrifices; and me, the one who never loves you enough. Isn't it great to be you?" she asked bitterly. "You get to call the shots; you get to play the disgruntled lover, the giver, the one making the sacrifices. And I'm the bad guy, the one who doesn't love enough to give herself up for her lover."

"Buffy, that's not-"

She held up her hand. "Don't try and tell me otherwise. You were always so sure that I loved Angel more, that he came first with me. That somehow I loved you less." She stood there, staring at him, defeated. "It's not jealousy, exactly" she murmured in dawning awareness. "I'm not jealous of Sam. I'm jealous of you. Of how much you love me. Of everything you've done for me. Because I'll never be able to prove to you that I love you as much. You loved me enough to give up your own chance at a mortal life. And now, you love me enough to give me up. I'll never, ever be able to show I love you that much."

He glanced down at the ground.

"Well, we'll do this your way then," she said and his head shot up. "I'm assuming that Willow knows where Angel is and that letter from Gunn is setting up some sort of visit?"

Spike nodded.

"Fine, pack your bags. We'll go to L.A. and I will go and see Angel. And then hopefully we can set this to rest!" She turned on her feels and stormed from the room, leaving Spike wondering just what hellish situation his gut instincts had set in motion this time.


	19. Gut Rot Instincts

Chapter 19: Gut Rot Instincts

Buffy insisted on Willow coming, which Spike didn't really have a problem with. But to be ornery, he insisted Sam join them. Getting four tickets on a red-eye flight to L.A at the last minute wasn't difficult. Sitting on the plane with a fuming slayer, a worried witch and a confused farm girl was difficult. By the time the plane landed in L.A, neither of them had spoken a single word to each other.

Gunn met them at the airport. The two men shook hands and then pulled each other close in the type of embrace that some men just seem to be able to pull off. It usually involved much back slapping and shoulder punching. Gunn and Spike's reunion was all that and, Buffy noted, something a little bit more. There was a deep sense of camaraderie and kinship between the two that took her by surprise. In their greeting and embrace, she saw the sort of deep tie that she'd always felt with Willow and Xander. A tie that she knew came from fighting and bleeding at one another's side; a tie that came from watching those you love die in front of your eyes. Buffy was reminded that the last time Spike and Gunn had seen each other, it had been in just such a fight. A fight in which all of their closest friends had died.

On the drive to the Hyperion, there was no mention of Wes, Fred, or Illyria.

"Angel left me a load of cash, had it all figured out before the battle. I might have been the lawyer of the bunch," Gunn explained on the drive, "but Angel was the legal genius. Had wills and trusts and everything set up for us. And we were all each other's beneficiaries. So whoever was lucky enough to pull through that last fight came out loaded."

"Even me?"

Gunn glanced over at him as he pulled into the hotel parking lot and smiled. "Yeah, I got it all but man, half of it's yours whenever you want it."

"How much we talking?" Spike asked in curiosity. As a vampire, he'd never really worried too much about money. As long as he had blood, cigarettes, bourbon, and a good fight now and then, he was content. But to have some to set aside for Dawn and Buffy would be wonderful.

"Millions."

Spike gaped at him and in the back seat of the car, Willow and Buffy gasped in shock.

"Holy crap, Spike, you're a millionaire!" Willow crowed.

"That's a whole lot of leather coats and chicken wings," Buffy murmured dryly.

Spike only grinned. He was thinking more along the lines of new windows and a new furnace for that drafty old house so that his women wouldn't freeze in the winter. But yeah...a new leather coat would be grand.

"We'll go over the papers, I'll find a way to get you the cash," Gunn said as they left the car and entered the hotel.

Spike stood in the lobby of the hotel and looked around, a lump in his throat. Gunn slapped him on the back and smiled sadly.

"Good to be back?"

Spike nodded. "Good, but bloody strange. I feel like I just left, but it's been so many years. Things have changed."

"I took some of the money and finished the hotel," Gunn explained. "To be honest, most of our guests are demons, but we do have some regular human guests as well." He gestured to the windows and lobby. "Windows are specially treated so vampires don't need to worry and there are spells that ensure that no violence occurs within the hotel walls."

"Like Caritas," Spike said, referring to Lorne's demon bar.

Gunn smiled. "Exactly. Found myself a different set of Furies to set the spells. Lorne stays here at least once a month when he's on business."

"And how's the jolly green giant doing anyway?"

Gunn nodded. "Great. Got his own place in Vegas. No slaving for him in sin city anymore. He's the man in charge again." He gestured for them to follow him. "Come on through to my apartment. We're booked solid, but I've got room for you in my quarters if you don't mind sharing. Spike, I've stocked the fridge for you. Why don't you guys get cleaned up and then we'll grab something to eat and get caught up."

They followed him and he showed them to their rooms. Wisely picking up on the distance and coolness between Buffy and Spike, he let her bunk with Willow and gave Sam and Spike their own rooms.

Buffy paused at the door to Spike's room and watched as he threw his bag on the bed.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, realizing how difficult it was for him to have returned to L.A.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm knackered is all. It was a long flight."

She wanted to go to him, rub his shoulders, wrap her arms around him and get lost in his smell and in the safety of his embrace.

But there were walls between them that at that moment, Buffy just didn't feel capable of breaching. 'Talk to me,' she wanted to shout. Instead, she said nothing.

He looked up at her, his expression blank. He wasn't giving anything away. "What?" he asked. "Did you say something?"

She glanced at the connecting door that led into the next room. Not her room; Sam's room. Apparently she didn't need to say anything; the look on her face gave her away.

"Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, turning away from her, missing the flash of pain and fear that crossed her face.

Buffy covered it by reacting with haughtiness and anger. "_You_ don't be ridiculous," she replied. "Don't forget who you belong to."

His eyebrows shot up and he sneered. "Belong to, eh? Laying claim now, Slayer? After all these years? Why now?"

She turned on her heels and left, running down the hall to the room she was sharing with Willow. She slammed the door behind her and leaned up against it, head bowed, chest heaving as she tried to repress the sobs.

"Buffy? What is it?" Willow asked, hurrying over to her and grabbing her by the arms.

Buffy looked up, her face ravaged by her tears. "I'm losing him, Will."

Willow shook her head and pulled her close. She hugged her tight. "You aren't going to lose him, Buffy. Not if you don't want to."

"Why are we here?" Buffy asked tearfully.

Willow sighed and pressed her cheek against Buffy's hair. "We're here to make sure that you and Spike stay together forever. You need to lay the ghosts of your past to rest. Both of you do."

Buffy shook her head in bewilderment. "But what ghosts? I'm done with the past!"

Willow leaned back and looked down at her. "You only have a decade to deal with. You've put Angel behind you. Spike hasn't. If anything, his relationship with Angel is even more complicated and goes way, way back. Add to that the fact that Spike believes, with all his soul, that you would be better off with Angel now that he's human. Spike has demons he needs to put to rest as well. That's why we're here, Buff. To make sure you are _both_ done with the past."

Buffy looked around the room and shivered. Even though it was a gorgeous eighty degrees in L.A. she'd felt cold ever since they landed. She missed Buffalo, the cool crisp air; she missed the house and her sister and friends. Here in California, in L.A., there were too many memories. Willow was right - there were too many ghosts for both of them.

"How can I convince him that he's wrong?" she asked, going to the bed and sitting down on its edge.

"Are you convinced of it?" Willow asked curiously. She hadn't been able to rid herself of Spike's haunting worries about Buffy's future.

Buffy looked up at her in surprise. "What?"

"Is he completely wrong, Buffy? Have you thought of what it's going to be like? Getting older while he stays young? Never going out into the day with him? Not ever having children? Not growing old together? You would never have a normal life."

"But what is my life without him?" Buffy asked sadly. "Empty. No love. No excitement. No passion."

Willow sat down next to her and took her hand. "I guess it's a matter of what you think you're going to want in the long run."

Buffy buried her head in her hands. "I don't know," she whispered. "How am I supposed to know what I'm going to want a decade from now? All I do know is that I spent the last ten years without him. And I don't think I'll survive another ten, never mind another thirty. I can't live without him, Will."

Willow smiled and hugged her. "Then it will work out." But even as she said the words, she thought back over their past. When had things ever, ever worked out the way they wanted or thought they should?

***

Gunn handed Spike the folder. "It's everything I've been able to find." Gunn smiled a bit nostalgically. "I had to hire an investigator."

"A demon one?"

Gunn nodded. "Yeah, there's a half breed Brachen demon over in Venice Beach who does the sort of work that we used to do. Small scale, sort of like when we first started out. Without Wolfram & Hart here in L.A., the demon pickings are pretty mundane anyway. He keeps busy though and he likes his work. He'd heard about us and about Angel Investigations. Needless to say – he was curious and eager to take the job. I've had him trailing Angel for a few weeks, ever since you called me."

Spike stared down at the folder. Inside it lay his future. And his past. It had been his decision that gave Angel the life he had, the life that was now relegated to a few typed pages. He flipped it open.

Spike caught his breath and his heart clenched but he wasn't sure exactly what emotion it was. Happiness? Surprise? Envy?

In the photo, Angel was standing in the sunlight. He was in a park, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, walking a black and white border collie. His face was tanned, his hair longer, and he was smiling slightly, as if, when the investigator had snapped the shot, Angel was laughing at a private joke.

"His dog's name is Spike," Gunn said.

Spike started, then looked up at him. "Really?"

"Strange coincidence isn't it?"

"Even in this life, he's got me on a leash." Spike laughed harshly and flipped the page. More photos. Angel getting into a car, wearing a suit. Angel unlocking the door to a small well kept bungalow. One, a close up, showed him staring right into the camera and Spike closed his eyes.

His grandsire had aged. He was heavier and there were slight lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before and some gray hair at his temples. But the dark eyes were the same and the features were still strong. But there was another big difference. Angel wasn't brooding in any of the pictures. He looked carefree and happy.

Whatever life the PTB had given him, it was a happy one.

How could Buffy resist this?

"What does he do for a living?" he asked.

Gunn smiled. "There's a certain irony here, he's a history professor at UCLA."

"His own history would have come in handy then," Spike said quietly.

"From what the investigator was able to get, the PTB did a fairly good job of wiping that history clean. As far as Angel is concerned, he is Liam O'Neil, a professor of history at UCLA. He grew up in Pasadena and went to Berkeley. His parents are still alive and he has two sisters, both are teachers at Pasadena high schools. He's not married and has no children, although he does have a sort of on and off relationship with a police officer."

Spike burst out laughing. "He _is_ a poof! Always said so didn't I? Bloody geniuses those PTBs! That solves everything now doesn't it?"

Gunn grinned and slapped Spike on the back. "Sorry to rain on your parade, Spike, but his police officer is definitely a police officer and not a policeman! She's a woman."

"Damn bad call on that then by those Powers. That Goddess wasn't as bright as I gave her credit for if she didn't pick up on the Nancy boy's tendencies and give the real boy a real life!"

"There are some strange things that have leaked through to his present life," Gunn continued.

"Like what?"

"His PhD. thesis was on magic in Irish history. And he teaches a class on classical mythology. He's also known as a demonology expert at UCLA and teaches another class on the representation of demons throughout history in art and literature."

"Strange," Spike said softly. "It's almost as if the veil the PTB gave him is too thin and his past too strong..."

"And that new woman he's dating?"

Spike looked up and Gunn handed him a picture.

Spike looked down at the photo and caught his breath. Petite, blond, those same green eyes. The similarities were merely surface, but they were there.

"Christ," he said.

Gunn nodded. "It's strange."

Spike tossed the file onto the desk.

"So what now?" Gunn said as he sat back and crossed his arms. "Why come all the way here? What do you want to do with this, Spike?"

"I need to see him, talk to him; I need Buffy to see him. I need her to _really_ see him."

"And make sure she has no residual feelings for him?"

When Spike nodded, Gunn shook his head. "You're crazy, you know that? She loves you, Spike. What are you doing?"

"That's an excellent question," Buffy said as she leaned against the doorway. "One I keep asking and one _he_ doesn't seem to have an answer to." She gestured to the file on the desk. "May I?"  
He pushed it towards her and she strolled over casually and picked it up. Spike watched her closely as she opened it and flipped through the pictures. He looked for any sign of discomfort; any sign of desire or need.

He saw her eyes widen and a slight flush burn along her cheekbones. Her breath was shallow and he could see her chest rise and fall in agitation. Her lips tightened, but he couldn't determine if it was in anger or if she was fighting back some other emotion. When she came to the picture of Liam's current girlfriend, she paled.

She looked up at them. "Girlfriend?"

Gunn nodded. "On and off. He seems to have a hard time committing."

Spike muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'poofter' and Buffy glared at him.

She closed the file folder, put it down, and leaned against the desk.

"So now what, Spike? What's the big plan? You've got me here. You know where he is. Now what?"

Spike refused to look at her. None of this felt right. It didn't feel right in his gut, where things usually felt right. And none of it felt right in his soul.

"He teaches a night class on demonology in art and literature on Wednesday nights over in Westwood," Gunn said.

Buffy slid off the desk and glanced down at her watch. "Well, how long will it take us to get there?"

***


	20. Count Chocula

Chapter 20: Count Chocula?

They arrived in Westwood without a plan. Which, as far as Spike was concerned, was not necessarily the best situation. And now here he was in the car with Gunn watching the woman he loved walk away from him. She threw the courier bag over her shoulder and strode towards the school. Spike watched her disappear and then reappear as she slipped in and out of the pockets of shadows left by the campus lights. She arrived at the doors and Spike saw her pause. 'Turn around,' he begged silently. 'Don't go in, pet'.

Buffy turned and glanced back towards the car. She was too far for their eyes to meet, but Spike felt the connection. Then she put her head down and opening the heavy doors, she walked into the school.

"I've said it once, but feel I need to say it again, man," Gunn said.

"Don't."

"You're an idiot."

"I know," Spike said with a sigh. "But it doesn't change the facts."

"Then find a way to change the facts," Gunn said simply.

Spike stared at the now empty walkway and wondered if it could ever be that simple.

***

"Take a look at this," the professor said, his back to the room as he pointed to the large painting projected onto the screen. "One thing most paintings of St Michael have in common is the fact that the saint is in a position of power over the devil or the demon in question."

Buffy quietly slipped through the backdoor and sat in one of the seats at the rear of the small lecture hall. She set her bag on the floor and placed her notebook on the desk. Then, unable to put it off any longer, she looked up.

"This position of power," the professor explained, "implies a sense of good versus evil. Saint Michael represents all that is good, he is he 'who is as God'; while the demon he is impaling represents all that is evil. Good vanquishing evil is a common theme in Renaissance paintings and this one, _Saint Michael Vanquishing the Devil_, by Raphael demonstrates this fully."

Buffy's breath caught. Angel looked…the same, but different. As Buffy stared at him, trying to figure out what the difference was, she realized that it came down to blood. She'd never realized how much blood made a difference. The blood pumping through Angel's body made his skin glow. His skin was supple and there was a softness to the edges of his jaw and chin that spoke of the frailties of human flesh. She could see the life in his face. He looked happy, content. Gone was the rigidity with which he'd always held himself. Gone was the frown and the brooding, glaring gazes and heavy forehead. He was smiling as he talked about the painting and as he moved around the classroom, there was a lightness to his step that had nothing to do with supernatural strength and everything to do with the fact that he was no longer weighed down by his guilt.

"Notice Saint Michael's face," Professor O'Neil said as he used a laser pointer to draw the students' attention to the painting. "Note his beauty, implying that goodness and beauty are synonymous. But there is more to it than Michael's physical beauty; his face is calm and serene as he slays the devil. He is filled with righteousness. Righteous because he has God on his side and the devil at the end of his weapon. At his feet." He gestured to the demon. "What do you notice about the devil?"

He pointed to the young woman in the front row who raised her hand. "Yes, Claire?"

"He's an angel too," she replied.

Professor O'Neil nodded. "Lucifer was once, like Michael, one of God's chosen ones. Implying perhaps that evil, like goodness, is within each of us, that it all has the same source." He walked over to the screen and ran his fingers slowly over the devil's arms and the smooth curve of his shoulders. "He is without armour, he has no protection," he said softly, staring at the painting. "Defenseless. Almost as if, in the great battle between good and evil, the demon knows that good will always win, so why try and protect himself?"

Silence filled the small lecture hall. The students stared at the man at the front of the room as he got lost in his thoughts.

The silence stretched and finally one of the students cleared his throat.

"Umm… Professor O'Neil?"

The professor turned from the screen and smiled at the students. He went to the laptop and hit a button, bringing a second painting up on the screen. "Here we have another Raphael painting. _Saint Michael _is one of his earlier studies. Notice the similarities in the pose. But what about the devil this time?"

He pointed to a young man in the back row. "Paul?"

"He's not a devil this time, it's a dragon."

The Professor shrugged. "Is there a difference?"

Buffy watched and listened in amazement as Angel led his students through various paintings of Saint Michael, drawing their attention to the differences, the similarities and always building on his theme of good vanquishing evil. But by the end of the lecture, it was apparent to everyone in the class that while their professor definitely celebrated good, he had a certain amount of empathy for the demons.

When the class was over the students gathered their things, talking amongst themselves as they left the room. A handful stayed behind and gathered around their teacher, chatting and asking him questions. As Buffy watched, she was reminded of her days at the college in Sunnydale. Had she ever been that enthusiastic about a subject? Had she ever wanted to stay after class and debate points with her teacher? And had any of her teachers ever responded with such warmth and enthusiasm to all the comments and questions?

"Hey, Teach, you joining us tonight? May I remind you that you bailed on us last week?" One student, a very tall young man, called out from the top of the stairs.

Professor O'Neil glanced up from the briefcase he was sliding papers into and grinned. "I know, I know. I'll meet you guys there tonight."

"Promise?" a young female student asked.

He nodded with a smile. "I promise."

Buffy waited until the last student had filed out and then she made a pretense of gathering her papers. She still didn't have a plan. She didn't know what she was going to say. What she was going to do.

Would he, on some level, recognize her?

How could he not? She asked herself.

Why would he? A little voice inside mocked. He didn't choose you over this life of his, why

would he remember anything from the past he despised?

"Are you new? I didn't get any new students on my list," he said.

Buffy straightened quickly and stared. God… He was right there, in front of her, in flesh and blood. She wanted to reach out and touch his skin, feel its warmth and its softness; she wanted to feel his flesh give under the pressure of the touch of her hand.

"Uh, yeah, I just registered this morning. They are still waiting for my transcripts," she mumbled.

He smiled. "Where are you transferring from?"

"Berkley," she blurted out and then wanted to curse.

His eyes brightened. "That's where I went! What year are you in?"

"Umm, third?"

He frowned and she wondered miserably if she had blown it already. "Third year, eh? Have you taken any of Professor Eathorne's classes? The man is a genius when it comes to the Renaissance period. You'd think he'd lived in Florence during that era."

Quickly she shook her head. "No, that name doesn't sound familiar."

He held his hand out to shake hers. "Well, I'm Liam O'Neil. Welcome to UCLA."

She reached out, the sweat pouring down her back in the artificially cool room. Her fingers trembled and she had to fight to keep her breath steady and even. There was a disconnect between the warm, strong hand that gripped hers and the face she was staring into. It seemed as if the world itself had shifted on its axle and was suddenly off kilter.

"Buffy Summers," she whispered. "Nice to meet you."

He frowned. "Buffy Summers. That's an unusual name. And familiar."

She tried to smile as her heart skipped a beat. "Yeah, it's unusual. But I don't think we've ever met."

He tapped a finger to his temple. "I'm good with names and faces. If we have met then I'll remember." He gestured for her to precede him through the door and out of the classroom. "Some of the students meet at a local bar after class. Do you want to join us? It'd be a great way to meet the others in the class."

Buffy found herself nodding. "Sure," she said softly. "My ride is probably waiting for me in the parking lot, but I'll just let them know I'll take a taxi home afterwards."

Liam smiled. "Tell them to join us." He tore a corner from a piece of paper pinned on a bulletin board and digging into his pocket, pulled out a pen. "Here, the place is called Paddy's and it's about five blocks from here, on the right. I'll see you and your friends there."

She took the paper from him and smiled feebly as he waved and walked away.

***

Spike let himself out of the car as Buffy approached. He tried to gauge her mood, tried to guess what she was thinking, feeling. She'd just seen her first love for the first time in years. Surely, Spike would be able to tell something from her face.

Stopping by the car Buffy looked up at him. There was a flush along her cheekbones and she looked bewildered and confused. Neither, as far as Spike was concerned were good and he had to ask himself for the hundredth time, what was he looking for here? Didn't he want Buffy and Angel to be back together, living happily ever after for their prescribed human lifespan?

"Well?" he asked. He smirked, curling his tongue behind his teeth. "Still a bleeding ponce I take it?"

"No. By the amount of attention he gets from his female students, I'd say he's definitely not a ponce."

Gunn poked his head out and asked the question Buffy wished Spike had asked. "Are you okay?"

"A little in shock I think. It's – it's very strange to see him. But to see him as a human, that takes some getting used to."

Spike felt her words stab his heart. Human. Warm human flesh. Skin hot to the touch.

"Did you talk to him?" Gunn asked.

"Yeah." She glanced between Spike and Gunn. "He's invited me to a bar up the street to meet some of the students from the class. I said we'd go."

Spike couldn't do it. He couldn't see him, couldn't talk to him. There was no way he would be able to pretend to be something he wasn't. Not in front of Angel. "Take her," he murmured, glancing over at Gunn. "Go with her and please make sure she makes it back safely to the hotel."

Buffy reached out as he turned away. "Where are you going?" she asked softly.

He looked down at her hand gripping his stone cold skin. "I'm going to go and kill something." He tugged his arm from her grasp and took off into the night.

***

Spike hunted the streets of L.A., remembering the old days. He remembered Wesley and Fred, adorable Fred and then her counterpart, the blue and powerful Illyria. He moved swiftly through the darkened streets and alleys, seeking out the demons. He found them and he took them down with vicious, righteous abandon, relishing the hunt and the kill; loving the feeling of bringing a dark and dangerous demon to its knees and ridding the world of it.

It was almost as if, with every demon he killed, Spike was slaying his own demon, the demon he'd been, over and over again.

Finally, sensing the dawn, he hurried back to the hotel, exhausted and spent. With mere moments of night left, he slipped through the back door of the hotel and into its protective shadows.

"Spike?"

He stopped just outside his door and glanced down the darkened hallway. "Sam?"

She stepped from her room and strode to him. "Are you alright? I've been worried sick about you. When Gunn and Buffy got back and told us you'd gone hunting, I was pissed off that you'd gone without me. But then, when you didn't come back and – Christ, Spike – the sun is up! Are you crazy?"

There was a genuine note of worry and concern in her voice and he couldn't help but lap it up.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm daft." He opened his door and spying the bed, realized again how exhausted he was. Bed or shower? Glancing down at his dusty clothes, he spotted other mysterious substances and decided that a shower was definitely in order.

But first…

"What time did Buffy and Gunn get back?" he asked.

"Around midnight, they weren't back late."

Spike felt relief and then shook it off. It didn't mean a thing that she hadn't stayed out late. Falling in love with Angel all over again might take time, he told himself as he headed for the bathroom.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Sam asked him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her to where she leaned against the door, watching him. He could read the sleepless night on her face and he softened. Walking over to her, he gently ran a hand over her hair.

"Because I have to," he said softly.

"You have to make her happy?" she asked angrily. "At the expense of your own happiness?"

"It's what I do."

"You're an idiot," she said, her tone softer this time.

"Don't I know it," he murmured. He grinned cockily, but the edges were a bit ragged. "Look at it this way; once she's happily settled with Angel in the suburbs, I'm a free man."

Her gaze travelled over his face, her blue eyes filled with sadness. "No. You'll never be free of her until you die."

"I'm going to take a shower," he said shortly, not liking the turn of the conversation. "And then, then I'm going to sleep." He walked away from her. "Good night and good bye. Leave me be."

Although he thought he heard her mutter 'bastard' under her breath, he didn't really care. When the door slammed shut, he sighed in relief and disappeared into the bathroom.

***

"Well?" Willow asked Buffy over their bowls of Captain Crunch.

"It was strange."

"You don't sound overwhelmed."

Buffy took a mouthful of cereal and then stared down at the soggy contents of the bowl. "You know, I remember this tasting much better when I was a kid."

"And you remember Angel being, oh I don't know, more overwhelming when you were younger?"

"I so wasn't going there, but since you've pointed it out, yeah. I'd have to say that Angel is much less Count Chocula and much more Cheerios. Not that there's anything wrong with Cheerios! I enjoy Cheerios."

"But you don't want Cheerios every day for the rest of your life."

"I want Count Chocula for the rest of my life," Buffy whispered. "But the rest of my life and the rest of Count Chocula's life are two very different things."

"Then you finally understand where Spike is coming from," Willow stated.

"I get it. As soon as I saw Angel breathe, and I mean really breathe because he had to, I realized the difference. I sort of understood the fear that goes along with that mortality. There's a whole level of love and commitment there, when the person you love and have committed to is mortal. I wouldn't want to watch Spike grow old and die." Buffy murmured. "Not unless I was growing old and dying with him."

"So what are you going to do?" Willow asked, reaching out and taking Buffy's hand in hers.

Their eyes met.

"I have no freaking clue."

"We'll figure something out. There's got to be a solution."

***

NOTE: the two paintings mentioned in Professor O'Neil's lecture are by the Renaissance painter Raphael. They are titled: Saint Michael Vanquishing Satan and Saint Michael. Both paintings are currently hanging in the Louvre in Paris.


	21. Best Laid Plans

Chapter 21: Best Laid Plans

Spike walked into the kitchen after his nap and saw Willow sitting at the table eating a sandwich and perusing a dusty old tome. "Where's Buffy?" he asked her.

She looked up at him. "Um, Spike, she's gone out with Ang-Liam. I think they went for coffee or something."

Ducking his head, he turned away from her to hide his expression. "When did she leave?"

"About an hour ago."

He bit back a curse and going to the fridge, yanked the door open and grabbed a bag of blood. Ripping the bag open, he squeezed it into a mug and practically threw the mug into the microwave.

"Spike," Willow warned softly.

He spun around and glared at her, his whole body trembling with emotion. She was surprised that he hadn't shifted into his gameface and she was once again amazed at his control. "What did you expect? Isn't this what you wanted?"

The microwave beeped and he took the blood and drank. "I don't know what the bloody hell I want!" He leaned against the counter and stared down into the mug. Standing there in his black jeans, black t-shirt and bare feet, he looked young and so very vulnerable.

Willow sighed and pushed the book and the sandwich aside. "I thought this was part of the whole plan. Get Angel and Buffy back together so that she can have the life _you_ think _she_ wants."

"It's a stupid plan," Spike muttered and she had to fight back a smile. "Bad plan."

"I agree," she said.

He shrugged. "But it's the only plan I got." He tossed back the last of the blood and grimaced. It had already started to congeal. When did the taste of blood - fresh, microwaved, or cold - start to taste bad? Was that going to be his life now? Without Buffy was everything just going to taste and feel and look mediocre?

"Do you think Giles will find me a job?" he asked suddenly.

Willow shook her head in confusion. "What?"

"A job," he repeated. "I'm going to need to do something after – after this is all over. I'm not staying here in sodding California with Ginger and the Professor and I'm sure as hell not staying in Buffalo. Do you think Giles can find me a job in London? Maybe I can work for the council. I think I'd like to go back to London." But even the thought of going home didn't seem all that great.

What the hell was he going to do with himself? He was pathetic now. In a month he would be unbearable.

"Spike," she said softly. "Is that really what you want?"

He set the mug down on the counter. "Want? What I want? By the time this is all over, the only thing I'm going to _want_ is to be staked one last time! Maybe, just maybe, the third time will do the trick. Isn't that what they say? Third time's the charm? Maybe if I die a third time the bleeding Powers That Be will leave me the hell alone and this time I'll stay dead!"

He pushed himself away from the counter and strode angrily from the room, missing the look of dawning wonder and amazement on Willow's face.

"And maybe they won't leave you alone this time, Spike," she murmured. Then she jumped up, grabbed her book and sandwich, and ran looking for Gunn.

***

Buffy licked her mocha ice cream to keep it from dripping down the side. She glanced over at Liam and found he was having an equally hard time. Apparently the Californian sun was wreaking havoc on ice cream cones everywhere.

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. She was walking with Angel in the hot afternoon sun. She was watching him eat real food! Watching the sunlight spill over him and gild his features. Gone were the brooding frowns; the dark glares; the grim, tight lip smiles. He smiled, really smiled, looking like a little, mischievous boy. And he laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, full and throaty. She looked at his left hand clutching the cone. Recognizing the pattern of hair on his knuckles and his hand, she suddenly understood that old saying about knowing something as well as the back of your hand. She knew the back of Angel's hand as well as she knew her own.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" she asked, realizing that she should have been paying closer attention to his mouth instead of his hands.

He smiled. "I was asking you what it was like growing up in Buffalo. You strike me as a Californian girl through and through."

"Hardy. Us Easterners are hardy souls. We grow up dealing with the weather and all. Makes for some pretty tough individuals," she replied.

"And yet you decided to come west to study."

Buffy focused on her ice cream. Eating was something she was good at. Lying and making up entire pasts and futures on the spot, while eating, something she was not so good at. She knew that someone had once said that it was best, when lying, to stay as close to the truth as possible. Well, that was much easier said than done; especially when the truth was unbelievable and ridiculous.

"Figured it was time to live on the west coast for a bit. I wanted to see the ocean and thought it would be great to be able to study and see the ocean on a regular basis." Idiotic, she thought to herself. She sounded like a complete idiot! "What about you? Did you grow up here in California?"

"Pasadena. My parents still live there, they were teachers and my sisters are both teachers."

"So it runs in the family," she stated. Nothing like stating the obvious Buffy, she thought. When did she become such a scintillating conversationalist?

"Yeah, educators through and through," he said.

"Haven't married a fellow teacher yet?" she asked out of curiosity, the picture of the police woman still fresh in her memory.

He shook his head, rolling up his napkin and tossing it into a city wastebasket. He glanced into the window of one of the swanky shops on Rodeo Drive. "No, never married to a teacher. Dated one once, a few years back."

"And who are you dating now? Good looking guy like you must have them lined up." Oh God, she thought to herself. There's no sign of improvement. This conversation was a train wreck.

He smiled at her. "There's someone. You actually remind me a bit of her now that I think of it. But she's a cop."

Buffy forced a smile. "Nice! So you guys can like play cops and robbers and stuff." Oh God. The conversation had progressed from train wreck status to apocalypse status.

"Nawww… Melody's not like that." Liam laughed.

"Melody - pretty name."

"Yeah, she's pretty great."

"Only 'pretty' great and not fantastic?" Buffy asked him, a bit taken aback by his lack of enthusiasm for the lovely Melody.

Liam glanced up at the traffic light and held his arm out so that Buffy wouldn't step into oncoming traffic. "Melody is a good cop and she takes her work very seriously."

"And you don't?"

He shook his head, looked both ways and then gently directed her across the street. "Not like she does. I enjoy my work, but to be honest, I enjoy a cold beer sitting out on my back deck on the weekend more. Melody, well, she never lets it go. She's always a cop you know?" He stopped outside a sports store and looked into the window. "Besides, my job isn't dangerous. It's not like I could die on any given workday. She could."

Buffy didn't even glance into the window. She simply stared at him in amazement. Who the hell was this guy anyway?

He continued walking and she fell into step beside him. She tossed the last of her soggy cone into another wastebasket.

"What about you? You seeing anyone?" he asked.

Seeing. Was that what you would call it, she wondered? It was so much more than that. Seeing someone sounded so mundane. It could never apply to her and Spike. Their relationship had never been mundane. It had never been seeing or dating.

"I'm in a relationship with someone, yes," she replied.

"What's he like?" he asked, glancing down at her out of curiosity.

Buffy chuckled. God, how was she supposed to describe him? "I'd say he's the sort of boy you don't bring home to meet your mom, except that my mother adored him." She laughed, remembering Joyce making Spike hot chocolate. "On the surface, that description would apply to him. But in his heart and soul, he's a poet." And a demon. And a lover. She looked down at the ground, feeling her heart ache. Fighting the tears, she realized that she wanted to go home. Home to Buffalo. She was done with this, with his stupid plan.

They would figure out another plan.

"You love him," Liam said gently.

Buffy stopped scanning the street for a taxi and looked at Liam. "What?"

"You love him," he repeated.

Buffy smiled crookedly. "Yeah, I love the idiot."

"He's very lucky. I hope he loves you just as much."

She took a deep, frustrated breath. "He does. He just doesn't see how much I love him. He doesn't get it and nothing I say seems to change that."

Liam grinned. "Then stop saying it and do something to show it."

Simple words. Such a simple, straightforward idea.

"I'm trying," Buffy nodded and glanced back into the street, wanting to go, wanting to leave, needing to be with Spike. "Liam, this has been very nice, but would you mind terribly-"

Shaking his head he stepped out into the street and whistled for a taxi. A cab pulled up quickly with a screech of tires and Liam opened the door for her. "It was very nice meeting you, Buffy Summers," he said with a smile. "I have a feeling that I won't be seeing you at class next week."

She smiled at him, her gaze memorizing his features, cataloging them for her album of memories. "No, I think I'm going back to Buffalo. I've seen enough of the ocean to know that it isn't for me."

Leaning forward, he gave her a firm hug and Buffy fought back the tears. Being in his arms felt like being in the arms of a stranger. This man wasn't Angel.

Angel was gone, forever.

And she, Buffy Summers, was perfectly cool with that.

"Liam?"

"Yeah?" he asked, pulling away from her and stepping back up onto the street.

"Don't be afraid to love Melody," Buffy said softly. "Tell her how you feel. Find that common ground, but don't turn away from love because you're afraid of happiness. In real life, pure happiness doesn't ruin anything. It is what it is."

A startled look crossed his face. "I'll try."

She blew him a kiss and then scrambled into the car. "The Hyperion Hotel," she told the cabbie. With one last glance back at the man standing on the street, she whispered her goodbye. Then she turned and faced forward and urged the driver to pick up the pace.

***

Throwing open the door to the recreation room, Willow rushed in, her eyes wide and filled with excitement.

"There you are!" she cried out, spotting Spike sitting with Gunn at a card table.

"Yeah, Red? What's got you all bewitched, bothered, and bewildered?"

She stopped next to his chair and stared down at him. "I need you to listen to me and to hear me out. I've got a plan."

He tossed a card onto the table and didn't even bother to look up at her. He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and took a drag. "A plan for what?"

"Would you look at me damn it!"

He paused. Then he slowly set the cigarette back into the ashtray, laid his cards down and looked up. "Witch, I'm all yours."

"Exactly – I'm a witch," she said. "And you better believe that I'm going to use all my power to fix this."

"Sorry to disturb your power surge here, pet, but the last time you tried to use all your power to fix something the world almost came to an end."

"No, not that kind of power, not black magic and dark power, but white magic. Good power."

"Will, there's no way to fix this," he sighed, picking his cards back up and glancing through them.

"Listen to her, Spike," Gunn said quietly.

Spike looked at his friend in surprise. "You know what this is about? And you didn't say anything?"

Gunn threw his hands up in defense. "She came and asked me a few questions and I think I may have picked up on her direction. But let the woman speak."

"It was you!" Willow said in excitement. "You gave me the idea! When you said that bit about the third time being the charm. It's true, Spike, threes are lucky. They are, in fact, sort of a charm in themselves."

"What in bleeding hell was I talking about that time?" He glanced over at Gunn in confusion. "I talk a lot don't I?" Gunn grinned and nodded and Spike continued. "And I'm supposed to know what you're talking about, Red, when I can't keep track of what I'm talking about half the time?"

She sighed in frustration. "Third time – when you said that all you wanted to do was be staked again and that maybe, this third time you die as a vampire, the PTB would leave you alone!"

He looked away, his lips pursed in distaste. "That conversation. Now I remember."

"But that's it. The third time _is_ the charm." She started numbering off her examples. "Magic, spirituality, and history are full of threes. Three Graces, Three Fates and the Three Furies. There is the Trinity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Three crosses on Golgotha and the Three Wise men. In genie mythology they always talk about three wishes. In Wicca we have the Rule of Three and our Triple Goddesses. You want to talk science? Newton's three laws of motion, three states of matter – liquid, solid and gas – and cripes, Spike, earth is the third rock from the sun. Threes are magic!" Her eyes sparkled. "We're going to use the magic of threes to send you back to the PTB for the third time. And this time, when you go back to them you're going to petition them for what _you_ want."

Spike set his cards on the table and looked up at Willow, giving her his full attention. "You want to kill me a third time, in the _hope_ that I get sent back to the PTB and then, when I'm there, they _might_ give me what I ask for." He shook his head. "There's a whole lot of uncertainty in that plan, Red."

"I'm going to use the power of threes to make sure you go to them again," Willow explained. "Once there, the rest would be up to you. If you want it bad enough, Spike, you can convince them."

He stared at her, the first signs of hope beginning to glimmer in his blue eyes. "You're sure you can get me there?"

"I've been working on a spell."

He winced. "Red….your spells…."

She held up her hand. "I'm not some untried young witch anymore Spike. I can do this."

Glancing over at Gunn, Spike asked, "You've had run-ins with the PTB. What do you think are my chances?"

"Spike, it's not whether or not I believe in the PTB. I believe that you can do it." He looked at Willow in admiration. "And I believe in her."

Standing up, Spike faced her. "We don't tell Buffy."

"Why not?" she asked in disbelief.  
"What if I can't do it?" he asked softly. "What if something goes wrong and I don't go back to them? Or what if I do and they don't care how prettily I beg? What if, Red, dead is dead this time around? I don't want her sitting around for the next ten years waiting for me to show up. We do this my way, or not at all. Buffy has no idea that this is a plan or a spell or anything. As far as she's concerned, I'm going to be dead."

Willow glanced down at her hands. She knew what she had to do and she couldn't look him in the eyes and lie. "Fine," she murmured. "I won't tell her."

If Spike found her quick acquiescence suspicious, he didn't comment. Instead, he looked at Gunn and then back at Willow. "Then this is how it's going to go down."

***


	22. Third Time Lucky

Chapter 22: Third Time Lucky?

It was late and Buffy couldn't find him. Willow hadn't known where he was, and against her better judgment, Buffy had even gone to ask Sam, but she didn't know either.

When he finally came home, it was still shy of midnight. Spike walked into Gunn's darkened kitchen and went to the fridge.

"Hi," she said softly from where she was sitting at the kitchen table.

He didn't jump, but he did go still. Slowly he turned and faced her.

"Hi," he replied, unable to meet her gaze.

Exhaustion had painted dark shadows under his eyes and this worried her. She wasn't used to seeing Spike looking so emotionally tired. She didn't like the slump to his shoulders or the downward cast of his face. It all reminded her of those horrible times in their relationship when she'd beaten him down, night after night. It made her sick to think back to those times. She couldn't change them and she couldn't erase them. But she could make sure that they never happened again.

"Where were you?" she asked.

He turned back to the fridge and grabbed a bag of blood and prepared it. Facing her, he leaned against the counter and crossed his legs at his ankles.

"The alley," he murmured.

"Alley?" She shook her head in confusion. "What alley?"

He looked up at her. "The alley where me and Angel, Gunn, and Illyria fought that last battle. Where Angel and me died."

Her heart ached for him. "And how did that go?"  
"I thought it would be harder to go back there, to relive those moments, that

fight. But it's just an alley." He shrugged.

"Why did you go?"

He looked up at her. "To say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"Buffy, I can't stay here," he murmured. "I'm not sure what you've decided to do about Angel. I know that I can't force your decision. I sort of figured out at some point that I couldn't. Christ, I probably knew from the beginning. I never could force you to do anything, could I?"

She smiled gently at him and shook her head.

"But whatever you've decided to do - I can't stay here." He turned and stared out the window over the sink. The dark glass reflected nothing but the room behind him. He sighed and bowed his head.

Buffy stood up and went to him, wrapping her arms around Spike's waist. She pressed her face into that spot between his shoulder blades and she felt the tension that held his entire body hostage. He held the weight of her world on his shoulders. And she really, really wanted to shift some of that weight from his shoulders to hers.

Spike didn't reach for her hands clasped at his waist. He could smell that human all over her. On her hands, and in her hair; Liam's scent hovered around her.

And it was killing him.

"I can't live with Liam," she whispered.

Spike stiffened further.

"I can't stay here and play June Cleaver to his imaginary existence. That's not who I am and it's not what I want."

"Buffy – you said –"

She squeezed him tighter. "Shut up and listen to me."

He looked down at her hands resting on his abdomen. Such tiny hands. Small but strong; Buffy's hands were a reflection of the rest of her. Psychics and palm readers might say that the story of one's past and future lay in the palm of one's hand. In Buffy's case, her entire existence could be read in the muscles, tendons, and bones of her hands. It amazed him that she could kill one demon and make tender love to another one with those same hands.

"I'm trying to listen," he muttered.

Buffy shook her head in exasperation. There were times, more than she could count, that Spike was impossible. But she'd rather have him impossible and infuriating than pliant and obedient. She trailed her eyes lovingly on the tender skin of the back of his neck. She loved that clean line where his platinum hair met his pale, soft skin. Strength and vulnerability. The thought of not having him in her life for any amount of time was enough to bring her to her knees.

"I've said a lot of things over the course of my life, and over the course of our relationship. And I'm not saying that you can disregard most of it, but I am saying that I'm not right all of the time and half the time I don't even know what the hell I'm doing. But I've learned some things over these last few months." She took a deep breath and exhaled. Her warm breath caressed the back of his neck and second by second, she felt him relax in her arms. "I love you with all my heart and soul," she whispered. "And while I'm pretty sure that with time and practice I could learn to live without you, the most important thing to me is the fact that I can live _with_ you. It's hard to find someone you can commit to, someone you can live with everyday. What we have is a precious gift; a gift more important than any baby, any picket fence and any garden. I can't live in a four bedroom bungalow with a fenced yard and my kind but boring professor husband. But I _can_ live in my ramshackle house with my poet demon."

"But the future," he murmured.

"I don't care how long we have," she replied.

Turning in the loose circle of her arms, he stared down at her.

"But I do," he said. "I can't watch you grow old. I can't stand by and watch it happen. I don't have the strength and I'm tired, Buffy. I'm so tired." He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm spent."

His eyes, filled with tears, met hers. "Buffy, let me go," he whispered. "I just want it to be over. I know you'll get through, whatever you decide. You're stronger now than you've ever been. And Angel or no Angel, Buffalo or Rome or Boston, whatever, you'll pull through. But it's over for me. I just want to rest."

A tear slid down her cheek. "Spike," she murmured, shaking her head.

"Let me go."

"Where will you go?"

He shrugged and backed away from her. "I'm not quite sure where souls like mine go."

"Souls? Spike, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Death," he explained. "I want it to be over."

She shook her head. "No! No freaking way! I'm not letting you do this!" She reached for him, but he kept backing away.

Sam and Willow stepped into the kitchen.

"I'm doing it," Sam said. There were no tears in her eyes. Her voice was steady and firm. Her gaze, as it settled on Spike, was calm. "I'll do it."

"This is ridiculous!" Buffy yelled. She grabbed Spike. "I'm not letting you go!"

He pulled away from her and he looked at Sam. "You've got something to do it with?"

"No!" Buffy screamed. She stared at Willow in a panic. "Willow, do something!" Buffy said as she lunged for Sam. And Willow did something. She muttered a spell, stopping Buffy in her tracks. Buffy shot her a betrayed glance.

"It's what he wants," Willow said. "For once, Buffy, this needs to be about giving Spike what he wants."

"Peace," Spike whispered.

Sam reached behind her and grabbed the stake she kept tucked into the waistband of her jeans; she held it loosely in front of her.

Spike looked relieved and relaxed, as if finally, there was a light at the end of the long tunnel of his life. He walked over to Buffy where she stood frozen in Willow's spell. He reached out and gently ran a finger down her cheek, a hand over her silky hair. "You were my one and my only, Slayer. The other half of my soul. The poet in me worshiped you and the demon in me loved you." He leaned forward and kissed the tears that poured down her cheeks, one after another, before settling on her lips. "You were the only one, Buffy. And no matter where I end up, in heaven or in hell, you will forever be the only one."

Glancing over at Willow, he asked, "Will you say goodbye to the others for me? I'd – I'd love to, I don't know, call them or write them a note -but I'm afraid the Bit would try and talk me out of this."

Willow smiled through her tears. She reached out and hugged him. "I will."

He turned to Sam. "Don't miss," he said with a lopsided grin.

She shook her head. "I won't."

He held open his arms, making himself a better target. "I couldn't ask for a better staker, you're the best, Kansas. Right through the heart and don't hold back, pet. Send it through to the other side."

Stepping up to him she pressed her cheek against his.

"NO!" Buffy screamed. "Don't you fucking dare! I will kill you!"

"The witch won't let her," Spike whispered in Sam's ear, his blue eyes gleaming. "Besides, in a few years, you'll be able to take her."

"I love you," Sam replied for his ears only.

"I know." Remembering another death scene, another slayer proclaiming her love. He would do better this time. "I love you too." He didn't need to specify that he loved her in the same way that he loved Willow and Dawn. It was evident in the way she looked at him that she knew the truth of it.

She raised her hand, her eyes locked with his. Then she brought the stake down with all her might, through his chest and heart, right through to the other side.

"SPIKE!"

Buffy's cry shattered the silence as Spike's body arched in a paroxysm of agony and then exploded into a cloud of dust.

The spell Willow had cast broke and Buffy fell to her knees. She knelt there in the kitchen, panting, trying to get her bearings. Then she looked up at Willow. All tears were gone. All the anger was erased from her face.

"How did I do? Was I convincing?" she asked.

Willow shook her head in amazement and lent a hand down to help Buffy up. "It was an award worthy performance. He didn't have a clue."

Sam stared at them in shock.

"She knew the whole time," she murmured. Her eyes locked with Willow's. "You told her. He made you promise not to tell her and you told her."

"I had to, it was part of my plan," Willow replied.

"What about Spike's plan?" Sam asked, her voice harsh and thick with emotion.

"Spike's plan is a part of my plan as well," Willow explained. "Sam, this is bigger than you could possibly begin to imagine."

Buffy dusted her hands off and frowned. "Come on, enough talking, let's get on with this."

Willow stared at Sam. "Give me the stake," she ordered.

There was an authority to her tone that ensured no resistance. Sam handed the stake over wordlessly.

Looking at Buffy, Willow said, "This is going to work."

"It better," Buffy bit out. "I happen to be at a point in my life where I actually want to live."

"What the hell-"

"Shut up," Willow ordered Sam.

Willow handed the talisman to Buffy. "It will guide you through the dimensions to him."

Buffy looked down at the small ring. She ran her finger gently over it, tracing its never ending circle. "What is it made of?"

"When Spike comes back, he might just kill me," Willow said with a small smile. "It's a piece of his leather coat. Inside are strands of his hair, some lavender for protection and some sage for guidance."

Buffy slid it on to the ring finger of her left hand. A perfect fit. "One ring to bind them…" she said with a laugh. "Andrew and Xander would love this part."

Willow smiled at her. "They would totally." She stepped forward and pulled her best friend close. "I love you."

"I love you too," Buffy replied. "Why are we getting maudlin? This is going to work; I'm going to see you like in five minutes. That's about as much time as it's going to take me to kick some PTB ass and make sure they give me Spike."

Willow chuckled. "I'll see you back in Buffalo." Not knowing exactly when or where the PTB would return Buffy to, they had agreed that following the spell, Willow would take Sam back to Buffalo where they would explain what they'd done to the rest of the gang and then wait. Neither Buffy nor Willow had any doubts that the plan would work.

It had too.

Stepping back, Willow looked down at the stake's bloody tip and then she closed her eyes and raised it up high.

"Goddess of love, Goddess of life, Goddess of fate. I call on all three of thee. Take this soul and take this blood and by the power of three, guide her to her beloved. By the light of dusk, noon, and dawn, light her path and to her beloved's side let her be drawn. By the power of sky, earth and sea protect her soul and when her task has ended, bring it back to me. By the power of the moon, sun and stars I petition thee." Willow's eyes when they opened, were glowing. She smiled at Buffy. "Blessed be your journey." Then, with the power of magic, she brought the stake down and slammed it into Buffy's chest.

Buffy's body, like Spike's, arched and lifted off the ground. But the similarities ended there. Instead of dust, Buffy's body exploded into millions of tiny flares of light, like a gorgeous firecracker exploding in a midnight sky. Each particle of light glowed for a second, like a firefly. Then they winked and were gone.

Willow looked over at Sam.

The girl was pale and trembling. She didn't look anything like the fierce slayer who had offered to drive a stake through the heart of the demon she adored. Now, she just looked like the scared farm girl she used to be.

Willow went over to her and pulled her into her arms. "Trust me," she murmured. "They will both be fine."


	23. Wind Beneath my Wings

Chapter 23: Wind Beneath my Wings

Spike knew what to expect this time around. He wasn't as surprised by the pain. He knew now that death by stake wasn't quick and painless. Sure, it took less time than burning to ash, but it still hurt like bloody hell. At this point, his third time dying as a vampire, Spike knew there was really no good way to go.

Again, there had been the stab to the heart, the fire spreading through his body and then poof, millions of exploding dust molecules bursting in the air. And again, that wasn't the end of it.

Here he was, proof for the third time, that those millions of dust molecules somehow reunited and he'd fallen through a blinding firestorm of light and wind before landing on something soft and comfy. He looked around.

"Bleeding hell," he whispered harshly. He wanted to weep, he was that full of gratitude. The witch was brilliant. Her ridiculous plan had worked.

Spike found himself, once again, in the octagon shaped room with its ring of thrones.

Only this time, the thrones were not empty.

The witch had gotten him here, the rest, he guessed, was up to him.

This time the Goddess that had granted him and Angel their second chance was relegated to a spot somewhere along the right wall. She was at least four chairs away from the central throne where, Spike assumed, the big Kahuna of powers reigned.

"William the Bloody," the Power in charge said calmly. He sat straight in his throne, his long silver hair spilling over his shoulders. The God's face was young; there were no fine lines and nothing to indicate his age. But the power he exuded spoke of millenniums.

"That's me. Or what used to be me," Spike muttered resentfully.

"We brought you back after you saved the world by closing the Sunnydale hellmouth," the God said.

"Yeah, and about that," Spike said angrily. "Can you explain it?"

"You were needed in L.A."

"By Wolfram & Hart?" Spike asked. "I didn't appreciate being used as a pawn in their crazy arse chess game."

The God shook his head. "It wasn't the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart that brought you back. It was us. You were needed in L.A."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well then! That explains just everything, that does. Get bent!"

The God smiled and he glanced over at the Goddess who had dealt with Spike and Angel previously. "I see your fascination with him. He's not only useful, he's entertaining."

"Still here," Spike shouted. "Still standing fucking here!"

The God turned to him. "It is three times now that you have chosen an unselfish death - that you have died to ensure the safety or the happiness of others."

"Yeah, you git, and I'm bleeding tired of it. So I not so kindly ask you all to let this be the last sodding time!" For a moment, Spike wondered if he was overplaying his part. He didn't know what they wanted, all he wanted was an end to the games and really, going down arguing and fighting was more his style.

The God shook his head. "We have one last job for you to do."

Apparently, he'd overplayed his part. Spike closed his eyes and felt the tears burn and his shoulders shook as he tried to repress them. He'd never been a stranger to begging and it seemed he was going to have to beg one last time.

Before he could slip to his knees and start, the room filled with a blinding white light. The

Gods and Goddesses shifted uneasily in their thrones, voicing their confusion and anger at the interruption. When the light and smoke cleared, they stared in shock at the body crouched on the floor at their feet.

"What the hell?" Spike said as he watched the body unfold and stand up. "Buffy?"

She turned and smiled at him, her smile lighting the room as brightly as her arrival had. "Hey, fancy seeing you here."

Staring at her in disbelief, Spike said, "How? What in God's name are you doing here?"

"Willow," she replied. She went over to him and gently caressed his cheek with her hand.

"That witch," he cursed. "She told you about the plan."

Buffy grinned. "Well, actually, she told me the whole plan. What she told you was only the half of it."

He shook his head. "She played me."

"We knew it was the only way."

"How did you get here?"

"A spell and a stake," Buffy explained. "And let me tell you, death by stake – much more unpleasant than drowning and falling through a ring of fire."

As she spoke, Spike began to understand. "The witch and her magic threes," he murmured in dawning understanding.

"Exactly. We'd both already died twice, so this was the third time for both of us." She held up her hand with the black leather band and grinned. "So Willow sent me after you."

Spike took her hands in his. "But why?"

Buffy reached up and pressed her cheek against his. "Because you aren't the only one who is capable of dying in order to save your beloved. I'm here," she murmured, her voice filled with warmth and love, "to save _you_ this time."

The God in charge cleared his throat and Buffy turned to face him, her hand slipping down and tightly clasping Spike's.

"This is highly unusual," the God said, his voice deep and commanding. "And quite impossible."

"What do you mean?" Spike asked softly, but remembering the scene with Angel, he felt a sickening sense of inevitability.

"There should not be two of you," the God explained. "Spike is our agent of change and he is our tool to command and use." He looked at Buffy, a curious expression on his face. "But you, Slayer, you are the anomaly here. We are not prepared or willing to deal with you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked angrily. She took a step towards the head of the Power Council before Spike held her back, sending her a look filled with reproach and caution.

"Buffy!" he hissed.

She shook her head at him and pulled her hand from his. "No! No freaking way! You've gone through hell and back at their command and done everything they've asked you to. I've followed you here to petition them and goddamn it, they are going to listen to me!"

"Buffy-"

She held up her hand, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation and fury. "Not prepared to deal with me? Not willing to deal with me?" She turned to face the God down, glaring at him. She pointed at him. "You are going to _deal_ with me – do you understand?"

"Buffy-"

She shot Spike a glance of annoyance. "Not no-"

"Buffy! Shut up!" he finally yelled.

She shut up and stared at him. He turned to the Powers, looking at each one of them. "Whatever you decide to do," he said softly, his gaze settling finally on the God in charge. "Let her say her piece." He looked back at Buffy and smiled. "She needs to do this. Calmly." He took her hand and pulled her to his side and then together, they faced the God.

"Say your piece," he commanded. His fellow Powers leaned forward in anticipation.

Buffy didn't even flinch. If anything, she straightened up a bit more and tightened her grip on Spike's hand.

"Spike is not your agent of change or your tool to do with as you please. He has a heart and soul and human will and he shouldn't be at the mercy of your whims," she began. "You had sent him back after his death in L.A. to supposedly save me, to help me find myself, to bring me back into my full power. Is that correct?"

The God nodded, unsmiling, glancing over at the Goddess who had sent Spike on his last endeavor.

"Well, if you consider that job done, then you are sadly mistaken," Buffy said smugly.

The God's stoic demeanor cracked and he frowned. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "It's quite simple really; I'm not 'cured' or 'saved'. The only way I can reach my full power and my full potential is if I have Spike at my side. He is my heart, he is a part of my soul, and he is the root and the seat of my power. Quite simply," and here she paused and smiled, glancing over at him with a twinkle in her eyes, "he is the wind beneath my wings."

Spike's eyes widened and he bit back a burst of laughter. Ducking his head he pressed his fist against his mouth to hold back more laughter.

The God sat back in his throne and the rest, taking their cues from him, did the same. He stared at Buffy, turned to look at Spike, and then shifted his gaze back to Buffy.

"She pleads her case well," he murmured. "William the Bloody, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I love her," Spike whispered. "And the world deserves her. She says she needs me in order to exist, and as I've told her, I highly doubt that." He glanced over at her. "Pet, you're stronger than any woman I know and you can survive without me." Turning away from the growing anger on her face, he looked at the God and continued. "But she shouldn't have to. Don't do this to her and don't do it to me. I've done what you've asked and if there's any chance at all that you can send me back under her conditions, then please, please do."

The God turned back to Buffy. Before he could even ask her, she was talking. _Again_, he thought to himself with an amused sigh.

"Don't do it for me, do it for him," she said earnestly. "He has a beautiful soul. He has a generous heart. He touches all those around him, filling their lives with hope and life and laughter. The world deserves him, it needs him!" Her eyes filled with tears, finally betraying her desperation. "I need him," she whispered, her voice cracking.

The God bowed his head to hide his smile and he muttered something under his breath that to Spike, sounded suspiciously like, "They're both impossible."

Then the God, much to the surprise of the other Powers, stood up. He stepped down from the throne and walked over to Spike. Not knowing what else to do, Spike fell to his knees before him, pulling Buffy down with him. She went, unwillingly.

"William the Bloody, rise."

Spike looked up at him.

"Oh get up!" one of the seated Gods whispered.

Spike struggled to his feet, pulling Buffy's grumbling form back up to his side.

The God placed his hands on Spike's shoulders. "William the Bloody. You are forgiven for all your crimes," he intoned.

Spike felt the heat spread from where the God touched his shoulders, through to each extremity, each limb. It was like warm, liquid honey sliding through his veins. Spike had a dim memory of what it felt like to have blood coursing through his veins and this – this was it. He gasped.

"William, we have one last job for you," the God said with a gentle smile.

Spike stared up at him, trembling as the blood poured through his veins.

"William, your final job is a very difficult one, probably the most difficult of your existence." The God's smile widened. "Your final job is to live. To live and to love and to feel joy."

Tears sparkled in Spike's eyes. "Really?" he whispered.

The God smiled. "Really," he said. "I command it." He laid his hand over Spike's heart and whispered words of joy and love.

Spike's flesh softened and warmed. His heart kicked in, pounding and pumping all that fresh, new blood. His pale face flushed and he gasped as pure joy flooded his soul.

"You will return to earth, in this new human form," the God commanded.

Spike looked startled. "Shanshu?"

The God shook his head. "No, this has nothing to do with any prophecy. This is our gift to you." He turned and smiled at Buffy. "Our gift to the both of you."

Spike looked around the room, the Gods and Goddesses smilled benignly at them.

The God took Spike's hands. "We will return you to your life, to Buffalo. There is no blank slate. You have earned your existence and your redemption and it makes you who you are. We would not change that. It is that that earned you the love and respect of your friends."

Spike grinned, feeling the joy pound through him with every beat of his heart. "You're not sending me another ten years into the future are you? Cause that, that was ridiculous."

The God shook his head, a mischievous smile playing across his handsome face. "No, Spike, only one month, enough time for your friends to return to Buffalo and feel your absence. It does, contrary to those who believe it is only a cliché, make the heart grow fonder."

Along with the hope and joy, Spike was regaining a bit of his cockiness. "So I'm going to be a real boy again?"

The God nodded.

"Can I keep my super human strength and healing powers?"

The God looked surprised; he hadn't expected that.

Spike shrugged. "Look, I got to keep up the slayer." He gestured to Buffy who was watching the proceedings with a huge smile of pride. "There'll be demons to kill and humans to protect. It's not like I was gifted with superior intelligence, what do you say – let me keep my strength?"

The God glanced around the circle, pausing at each of his followers. One by one, they nodded. He turned to Spike.

"Spike, you will be granted a human life, but you will retain your vampire strength and healing powers. But do not ever forget, you are a human, with a human's frailty. You will no longer be immortal."

Spike grinned and nodded. "Sounds good." He turned to Buffy and pulled her into her arms and crushed her mouth with a kiss. "You did it, Slayer," he murmured against her mouth.

Her arms locked around his neck. "We did it, together."

"Wind beneath my wings, eh?" he asked with a grin.

"I think I will have that as our wedding song," she murmured.

A thought suddenly occurred to Spike and he spun around to face down the Powers for one last time. "She's coming with me right? Cause if she isn'-"

The head God held up his hands, a smile breaking across his face. "You both deserve each other," he said. "You've both shown your love, your strength and your nobility through your sacrifices. You are both going back. Besides, we don't want her here. We're not quite – how shall I put it – equipped for someone of Buffy's nature."

Buffy looked indignant, but Spike's brilliant smile filled her entire heart and soul.

The God laid one hand on Spike's shoulder and the other on Buffy's. "Blessed be, William Pratt. Blessed be, Buffy Summers."

In a split second, the bright and pristine room smelling softly of roses and orange blossoms was gone.

***

Buffy hit the ground hard. She stood up and looked around, gasping.

"Where the hell-"

She was standing at the edge of the crater that used to be Sunnydale. Glancing down into the canyon, she wavered dangerously on the edge and then stumbled back.

Back in Sunnydale? Back where it had all started?

Back, Buffy realized suddenly, where she had ended. The PTB had sent her back to where she'd died. Back to Sunnydale.

"Spike?" she yelled, looking around. "Spike?" Her voice echoed across the canyon. There was no answer.

"Oh. My. God!" she screamed, shaking her head. She stomped her foot into the dirt for good measure. "Oh my freaking God! Will they ever stop playing around with us?" She patted the pockets of her coat, praying that she hadn't lost her cell phone during her inter dimensional travel. She sighed in relief when she found it. With shaking, fumbling hands, she turned it on and held it up.

"Signal, come on…" she prayed impatiently. "Come on…give me a signal!"

The tiny bars appeared and she sent a prayer to the great cell phone Gods. Quickly, she dialed Willow.

"Hello? Buffy?"

"Willow!" Buffy yelled into the phone. "Willow, it's me!"

"Buffy!" Willow squealed back. In the background Buffy could hear Dawn and Xander calling out. "Thank God! Where are you?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Sunnydale! The freaking PTB sent me back to Sunnydale!"

"What? Where's Spike?"

"He's not there with you?"

The silence on the other end of the phone was not reassuring. "No," Willow yelled back over the bad connection. "We haven't heard from him. We've been waiting to hear from both of you."

"How much time has gone by?" Buffy asked, her heart sinking.

"Two weeks."

Two weeks? But they – the PTB had said a month. Buffy bowed her head. Think Buffy! Think!

"Willow – they said they would send us back a month ahead," Buffy yelled.

"It's only been two weeks Buffy," Willow replied.

"They sent me to Sunnydale two weeks ahead," Buffy said. "Which means they've sent Spike ahead by another two weeks?" Her head hurt trying to wrap itself around the concept.

"Could be," Willow said.

"But where the hell are they going to send him?"

"I don't know," Willow said. "But, Buffy, he'll find you. No matter what, he'll find you. Come home."

Buffy looked around the deserted canyon. "How?"

Willow chuckled and her relief came across the crackling phone line. "I'll call Gunn. Hold tight and he'll be there in a couple hours."

***

Spike hit the ground hard. He stood up and looked around, gasping.

"What the hell-"

It was the alley. The alley where he'd died with Angel. It looked different and it took Spike a split second to realize why.

The alley was bathed in sunlight. The noon hour sun was high over the building, washing away the alley's dark corners and sparking off the rusted edges of the dumpsters. Spike winced as the bright light flooded his eyes.

"Bleeding hell!" He flinched and then realized that it was simply the natural heat of the sun he was feeling and not the burning of hell's fires. "Bleeding hell!" he yelled, but this time it was a cry of joy. Tilting his face up to the sun, he felt the heat of it for the first time since he'd worn the ring of Amara. He spread out his arms and turned, looking around. "Buffy! Buffy it feels bloody fantas-"

The alley was empty. He was alone.

"Buffy?" he yelled. "Buffy?"

There was no answer.

Spike took off at a run.


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue

Spike burst into the busy lobby of the Hyperion, hyperventilating and covered in sweat. Already, being human was messy. He loved it.

"Gunn!" he yelled. "Gunn?"

The guests milling around the lobby scattered as he stood in the middle, staring wildly around.

"Gunn?"

"Spike?"

Spike spun around, arms wide open, his smile beaming from his sweaty face.

"It's bloody hot out there!" he said with a laugh.

Gunn ran to him and threw his arms around him, hugging him tight. "It worked, man! It freaking worked!"

"Fucking right it did!" Spike said, laughing. "Buffy talked them into it and then I negotiated a few things. Human body, vampire strength, my friend! Bloody brilliant the two of us were!" He looked around. "Is she here?"

Gunn smiled. "I had to go and get her two weeks ago. The PTB sent her to Sunnydale! I got a call from Will and had to go and pick her up. We waited for a bit and then she decided to head back to Buffalo, knowing that when and wherever you did show up, you'd find her there."

Spike couldn't stop smiling. "That's my girl," he said in approval. Then he grasped Gunn by the shoulders and leaned forward, staring him in the face. "Now, first, point me to a phone so I can call my Slayer. Then, I need that money we talked about, those black market papers, a cell phone, a decent car and a map. Cause I'm going home."

***

_First night on the road._

"Explain to me again why you aren't flying home?" Buffy asked.

Spike grinned and leaned back against the headboard of his nondescript motel room. "Pet. I'm human now. Do you think that I'm going to set foot in a flying tin can and take any chances?"

"And you do know that more people die in car crashes than plane crashes right?" She chuckled warmly.

It was his turn to laugh. "I know. I got the statistics you emailed me before I left L.A. Gunn found it very amusing. All propaganda put out by the airlines, pet."

She burst out laughing. "You're being silly."

Rolling his eyes, he said, "Lose all my demony badness and I'm silly now." He sighed dramatically. "How the mightily bad have fallen."

"I'm just saying…you could be in bed with me now instead of in some motel somewhere! Where are you anyway?"

He glanced down at the map spread across his bed. He'd been planning tomorrow's route when he called her. "I'm in…wait…where is it - oh sod it all – I have no idea. I'm somewhere in Arizona."

"How many more days?'

His heart softened and he closed his eyes, pressing the phone closer to his ear. "Five more days, love. If I have to drive straight through the night, I'll be there by Friday."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Cross my heart," he said with a grin. The fact that he now had a real heart to cross made the vow seem that much more powerful.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he murmured back.

_Second night on the road._

"Truth is, pet," he said, staring out the window as the car cruised down the dark highway. "I'm terrified of flying."

"Really?" she asked incredulously. The thought that her ex demon lover would be afraid of anything floored her.

"Really," he repeated. "I was a Victorian gentleman remember. Never got used to the whole flying with the birds. For the birds that is."

"Okay," she said. "We'll drive everywhere."

"I love driving," he said.

"What's the soundtrack of your journey this evening?" she asked. She could hear the soft hum of the radio coming across the line.

He glanced over at the messy pile of CDs on the passenger side of the front seat and he grinned. "This evening I'm listening to the Ramones' "Road to Ruin", Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" and Cake's "B Sides and Rarities"."

She chuckled. "You're odd, you know that?"

"Yes, I do know that. Part of my charm that is."

"Where are you now?"

He glanced out at the darkened highway. "Somewhere in Northern Texas, or I might actually have crossed into Oklahoma at some point."

She sighed. "How many more days?"

"Four, pet. Four days and I'll be home."

_Third night on the road_

"I had the best cherry pie today," Spike said, slurping back on his Big Gulp. He was convinced that God had placed 7-Elevens on the earth for the sole purpose of making him happy.

"Cherry pie, hmm?" Buffy asked with a chuckle. "Yesterday it was the cheesecake, tonight it's cherry pie. What with your addiction to high fat foods, I'm getting a little worried. We might have to have a chat about heart disease and diabetes."

He waved away her concern, then realizing she couldn't see that over the phone, he said instead. "I'm young! There's nothing to worry about."

She burst out laughing. "Spike, you're over a hundred years old!"

He shook his head. "No way! According to my brand new New York state driver's license I'm thirty."

She gasped. "Spike!"

"What?" He sat up in the bed of yet another roadside motel. "What happened?"

"You idiot!"

"What? What did I do?"

"Thirty? Thirty? Spike, that means I'm older than you!" she cried.

He fought the laugh that threatened. She would not thank him for laughing at her. "I'm sorry, pet. I didn't even think. I went with the whole three thing what with Red and her magic spells and all."

"Then why didn't you go with thirty-three?"

Silence.

"I didn't think of that," he admitted. And then, in that second, he thanked the Gods again that he'd asked to keep his vampire strength and healing powers. She was going to kill him when he got home.

_Fourth night on the road._

"And the soundtrack of your journey tonight?" Buffy asked, pushing some papers aside and stretching out on their bed.

"The Best of Leonard Cohen and the last Linkin Park CD," he replied. He saw the lights of a motel shining up ahead in the darkness and decided to pull over for the night. He slowed down and put the signal on.

Buffy chuckled. "You have very strange taste in music."

"I'd tell you to blame Chantal, but that would be unfair," he said with a smile.

"She misses you," Buffy said softly. "They all do. Dawn's been driving me nuts. Every night she asks if I've called you yet and if she can talk to you."

"Well, put her on," Spike said as he pulled into a parking spot in front of the motel guest entrance. He turned the car off and sat there for a moment.

"No," Buffy said softly. "These conversations are mine. I imagine you wherever you are, driving along a dark highway or in some hotel room, and I feel connected to you. It's just you and me during these conversations. When you get home, it'll be you, me and everyone else."

"I love you," he whispered, his heart aching for her. His body crying out for her. He should have bit the bullet and flown. "I can't wait to hold you, to touch you."

"One more day," she whispered back, closing her eyes, picturing him. "I love you too. I can't wait till you get home."

"One more day, my love," he said, bowing his head and closing his eyes. "One more day."

_Fifth day on the road_

Buffy bit into the apple and leaned back into the swing on the front porch. The book she was reading was resting on her lap, unread. For the one hundredth time, she looked up the road. There was still no sign of Spike's car. The last of the afternoon sun was starting to sink behind the Buffalo skyline and he still wasn't home yet. She'd expected him about an hour ago.

"Buffy?"

"No, Dawn," Buffy yelled. "He's not here yet."

"Can we come out?"

"NO!" Buffy yelled. "For crying out loud, let us have a moment when he does get here!"

She rolled her eyes and as she turned to pick up her book, her eyes caught the gleam of candy apple red as a car turned the corner and made its way slowly up the street. She threw the book to the porch and stood up, a huge grin on her face.

"He didn't," she said with a laugh as she watched the mustang convertible pull up in front of the house. Buffy launched herself from the porch, running towards him. "Spike!" she called out.

He got out of the car and hurried around it. He caught her in his arms, stumbling back against the car at the force of her greeting.

"Buffy," he gasped, then covered her mouth in a crushing kiss, squeezing her tight in his arms. "Buffy."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and wept as she kissed him. She felt the difference immediately. He was warm, and while his body was still hard with muscle and bone, there was a suppleness to his flesh that spoke of his new humanity. But the arms around her were Spike's, the lips on hers were Spike's, and the eyes that stared down at her still gave her access to the beauty and depth of his soul. He was her poet and her lover. And there was just enough of a gleam in his eyes to remind her of the demon he used to be.

"Buffy?" he asked, his voice low. She caught the note of concern in it right away. "Things are different now. I'm – I'm different now."

She smiled, tracing the scar that bisected his left brow. "You've kept the best of you, Spike. All the pieces – whole and broken – that I love." She rested her hand on his heart and closed her eyes. She could hear his heart beating. Buffy felt tears smart her eyes. She opened them and looked up at him. "We can both protect each other's hearts and souls now," she whispered.

"Deal," he murmured, leaning down and kissing her softly. "Definitely a job I'll tackle. I'm convinced the pay and the benefits are going to be impressive."

She chuckled, kissing him back. "Count on it."

"Spike! Spike!" Dawn cried out.

Buffy sighed and settled into his arms. He laughed and tightened them around her. Glancing over her shoulder, he spotted the Bit bouncing on her feet, waiting impatiently. Harris grinned and waved and stepped aside to let Willow and Giles step out onto the porch.

"Spike's back!"

Spike peered more closely and then groaned softly. "Tell me that's not Andrew," he begged.

Buffy chuckled, nestling into his arms, resting her cheek against his chest, lulled by the cadence of his heartbeat. "Your fan club has expanded by one more. He arrived last week and has been driving us all insane."

Spike glanced back at his car in yearning. "Can we run away?"

She shook her head. "Dawnie will hunt us down and take us out."

He sighed. "Okay, I'm going to give the word. You ready?"

"I'm ready for it all." She smiled up at him.

He leaned down and kissed her gently. That was all he needed to hear.

THE END


End file.
